


Fame is a Vapor

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Famous Peter, Fashion Designer Peter, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 20:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11881899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Most people wouldn't assume Peter likes baseball. There are a lot of stereotypes that come with being a bisexual man in fashion, and one of them is that he must hate sports and typical 'manly' things. Such blind assumptions and gender roles are, of course, ridiculous, but he's not above using them to sneak off when his PR team gets a little too gung ho on his speaking events.He's wanted at various fashion schools and charity events, and he has the Project Runway team pestering him to guest judge again, as if he doesn't have his hands full with running Hale Fashion. It's taken years of hard work and maybe a little bit of blackmail, but he's the head of his own company, and he thinks he deserves an afternoon off.OrPeter, rich and famous fashion mogul, accidentally spills his beer on Stiles at a baseball game. Stiles has no clue who he is. That makes their first date so much better.





	1. Chapter 1

Most people wouldn't assume Peter likes baseball. There are a lot of stereotypes that come with being a bisexual man in fashion, and one of them is that he must hate sports and typical 'manly' things. Such blind assumptions and gender roles are, of course, ridiculous, but he's not above using them to sneak off when his PR team gets a little too gung ho on his speaking events. 

He's wanted at various fashion schools and charity events, and has the Project Runway team pestering him to guest judge again, as if he doesn't have his hands full with running Hale Fashion. It's taken years of hard work and maybe a little bit of blackmail, but he's the head of his own company, and he thinks he deserves an afternoon off.

Technically, he's in New York to discuss a possible merger with another label, but negotiations are long and tedious, and his assistant Erica is perfectly capable of handling that for a few hours without him. He excels in the boardroom, but design is his passion, and he bores of talking to most people quite easily, especially the self-important representatives from Whittemore Designs. So he'd excused himself for lunch and just never went back. 

Citi Field isn't his favorite ballpark and the Mets aren't his favorite team, but his team is the Dodgers and they happen to be in town, so after slipping out of the office and texting Erica that he won't be back for a while, he drives to Citi Field for a day game (a businessman's lunch, it's commonly referred to). The game isn't nearly sold out, so he's easily able to get a good seat. He doesn't go for a $600 seat right behind home plate, if only because he prefers a higher view, instead paying for a still quite expensive club seat higher up. 

It's nice. He has a view, he's able to relax and forget, momentarily at least, the mess going on in his office, and he has a drink. Normally he isn't a fan of beer, preferring wolfsbane-laced wine or a good scotch, but it's part of being at the ballpark for him, buying an overpriced beer. He decides it's time for another during the fourth inning when his runs empty, and when they woman a few seats down starts eyeing him appreciatively. He's not sure if she recognizes him, especially since he's wearing sunglasses, or if she's just attracted to him (it's hard to differentiate scents, especially ones of attraction, in an environment this crowded), but he doesn't really want to find out. He doesn't feel like dealing with it today.

Peter stands before the woman can get up the nerve to talk to him, and takes the awkwardly spaced steps up quickly until he gets to the promenade that circles around the field. The closest beer vendor isn't far away, but he feels like a bit of a walk anyway and weaves his way through the crowd. His mind is still being pulled in all directions, from the buyout of Whittemore Designs, to the pack reunion Talia wants him to attend, to the stack of designs he has on his desk in LA waiting for his approval. Peter sighs deeply. He's supposed to be playing hooky to relax, not think more about work, but it seems like his brain hasn't gotten that memo.

Peter only notices how long he's been walking when he glances out toward the field and realizes he's almost lapped the stadium and still hasn't gotten a new beer. He makes his way toward to nearest line and waits patiently, ignoring the persistent buzzing of the phone in his pocket. He vaguely wonders if the woman in his row is still there, and if he should find another seat. 

Three transactions later, Peter's finally at the front of the line and shells out $15 (ridiculous) for a wolfsbane-laced beer. He hands the money over to the vendor right when cheers erupt from the stadium. Peter turns quickly to the side, trying to crane his neck to see what happened (if the Dodgers made another error, he swears to god...) only to crash into the person standing on the other side of the beer cart.

The man shouts in surprise as Peter's beer spills all down the front of his formerly white shirt, the man's pretzel dropping to the ground and accompanying cheese spilling all over his shoes. Peter is mostly unscathed, the beer spilling over his hands and bare forearms more than anything else, but he still wants to snap at him to watch where he was going (even though in reality, the other man had been standing still and Peter was the one to crash into him). Plus, one look at the man's face and his irritation evaporates. 

The man's eyebrows have flown up in shock and his mouth is open as he squeaks, yanking his cold, wet shirt away from his body. Even with the weird expression and slight flapping, Peter can tell he's attractive. He has slightly messy brown hair, wide brown eyes (though some of that may have something to do with the face that he's shocked and probably cold now), and the smoothest, fair skin dotted with moles. Peter's wolf reacts strongly, very strongly, and Peter is hit with the sudden urge to lick him. 

"I'm so sorry," Peter says. He grabs a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the beer cart and steps into the man's space, pressing the napkins to the wet shirt. The man hisses as the wet shirt is pressed against his skin. "I didn't see you."

"It's fine, it was an accident," the man says, but his voice is tight and unhappy and really, that just won't do.

"I'll pay for the cleaning," Peter says.

The man huffs a little laugh at that and bats Peter's hand away from where they're still dabbing the napkins against his torso.

"It's like a $10 Target shirt," the man says. "Not a big deal. Dry cleaning it would cost most than I paid for it in the first place."

It's then that the man finally looks at Peter's face. There's no spark of recognition, but his mouth does open a bit and his breathing catches before he can stop it. He goes a little pink in the cheeks and his scent blossoms with attraction, and really, Peter can't help but preen a little.

"Let me replace it then. There's a team store here, isn't there?" Peter says.

"Yeah, but that shit's way overpriced," the man says and really, Peter can't see why he's fighting it this much. It's just a shirt. "It's fine."

"I can afford it," Peter says with a shrug. "And really, would you rather walk around for another four innings wet and smelling like beer?"

Peter can see the man's resolve wavering, never let it be said that Peter isn't good at talking his way into what he wants, and he finally sighs. 

"All right," Stiles says. "Only because I don't want to get thrown out because I reek like beer they think I'm wasted. You drive a hard bargain."

"Yes, I'm asking for so much," Peter says. The man snorts. "I'm Peter." Peter reaches out a hand.

The man takes it, shaking firmly.

"Stiles," the man says.

"Bless you?" Peter says.

"Ha, ha," the man says. "My name, it's Stiles."

"Stiles," Peter says, and Stiles blushes. He also seems to realize he still has a grip on Peter's hand and hastily tries to tug it back, but Peter's reluctant to let go and caresses the soft skin with his thumb before loosening his grip for Stiles to pull away. Stiles is blushing again and really, it's a bit unfair that he makes it look so good. When Peter blushes, which is a very, very rare event, he just look like he has a blotchy sunburn.

"Uh, yeah, team shop," Stiles says, tugging at his hair a bit. "This way."

"Lead on," Peter says.

"So," Stiles says as Peter falls into step next to him. "Is it your first time?" Peter cocks an eyebrow at that. "First time _here_ , you perv."

Peter chuckles.

"No, but I've only been a handful of times," Peter says. "Why?"

"You didn't know where the team shop is. You weren't even sure if there is one," Stiles says, then narrows his eyes. "You're a Dodgers fan, aren't you?"

"Guilty," Peter says. 

"Why?" Stiles says dramatically. "Why must such a pretty face be cursed to a Dodgers fan?"

Peter laughs. 

"I could say the same for you. Mets? I'm disappointed, Stiles," Peter says.

"You do realize you're at the home of the Mets, right? That you're surrounded by thousand of loud Mets fans?" Stiles says with a smirk. "And that the Mets are currently clobbering your Dodgers seven to one?"

"Details," Peter says. "Corey Seager is having a hell of a year, and Cody Bellinger in having a record-setting rookie season."

They argue baseball until they get into the team shop, then as they look through the racks of clothes, then when Stiles pulls up a shirt consideringly, holding it up to see if it'll fit (the worker looks vaguely worried that Stiles, who is still covered in beer, will want to try it on). 

"Céspedes?" Peter says when he sees whose name is on the back of the shirt. "Not exactly having the best year, is he?"

"His year is going fine," Stiles says with a huff, but he puts the shirt back. 

Peter steers him away from the clearance rack and tells him to just find one he likes.

"You're going to have to live with wearing it, do you really want it to be a shirt with someone's name on it that isn't even on the team anymore?" Peter asks.

Stiles sighs, like he's being put so far out of his way, but he does eventually find a blue shirt with a simple Mets logo on it that he likes. Peter plucks it from his hands and puts it back, ignoring Stiles' irritated squawk, only to grab a size smaller and gets in the line for the register. 

"That is not going to fit," Stiles says.

"It is," Peter says. "You're swimming in a shirt two sizes too big for you. This will fit you better and compliment those broad shoulders." Stiles looks at him with an eyebrow raised. "I work in fashion," Peter says, not used to having people not know that. How novel.

"Of course you do," Stiles says. "What with your...everything."

"My everything?" Peter repeats, amused. 

"Yes! The tight jeans and nice shirt and perfectly coiffed hair," Stiles says, flapping a hand in Peter's general direction. "It totally fits."

They're up to the register then and Peter pays for the shirt, even though Stiles says again that he doesn't have to.

"You're bad at accepting gifts, aren't you?" Peter says as the walk out of the store. "And that wasn't even a gift, it's in recompense." 

Stiles just shrugs and tugs the price tag off the shirt. 

"I'll be right back," Stiles says and ducks in the restroom. A few minutes later, Stiles emerges in the new shirt, though still smelling a bit like beer. There's a short and awkward silence, and Peter realizes it's because it's the time when they probably part. Stiles has a clean shirt, Peter has no debt left. Stiles bites his lip for a second before seeming to say fuck it, and asks, "Do you want to get a drink? Maybe one you won't pour down my front?"

Peter smiles. 

"I'd love to."

They both get a beer and lean over the railing to watch the rest of the game. This time Peter is very careful to keep his drink away from Stiles, especially after in the middle of a story, Stiles gestures wildly and knocks his hand into Peter's arm, almost toppling the cup from his hands. Stiles sheepishly apologizes and admits that that happens a lot.

They talk about what feels like everything. About Stiles' best friend who went with him to New York for college, who got bit by a rogue alpha on campus. About how he and Stiles kind of stumbled through trying to teach him control because werewolves are secretive and Google can only tell you so much, until Stiles finally forced Scott to find the local pack's alpha and ask for her help. They talk about how Peter's a born wolf, about how he's impressed that Stiles managed to help Scott as much as he did. Stiles looks like he's brimming with questions but barely manages to hold himself back.

Stiles is in the middle of a story about his boss, an erratic man named Finstock, in the bottom of the eighth when the Dodgers start to man an impressive rally. Then, it's back to shouts and groans and trash talking until finally, after tying the score, the inning is over. Peter looks over at him smugly.

"Don't you start," Stiles grumbles. 

"I didn't say anything," Peter says innocently.

"You were thinking it, you bastard," Stiles says.

Peter just hums, neither confirming nor denying. 

No one scores in the ninth and it goes into extra innings. Peter isn't complaining at all. He and Stiles are still standing next to each other, though they've gotten closer since they first picked this spot. Stiles is close enough that when he gestures when he talks, or when he grabs his beer, their arms and shoulders brush together, sending a thrill through him, and isn't that more than a little embarrassing. Peter can't decide if Stiles is doing it on purpose (he has a theory that the man can be quite devious when he wants to) or if he is genuinely oblivious to how much he's touching Peter (if he's friends with werewolves, he must be used to being tactile, right?). The sly looks Stiles sends him once in a while make him lean toward option number one.

The best part of it all is that Stiles has no idea who Peter is. There's no recognition at all when Peter gives his name, or when they talk, so Stiles isn't clamoring over himself to impress Peter for the sake of his money, or his ties to one of the most powerful packs in the United States. Stiles is just talking to him because he wants to.

In the end, in the bottom of the twelfth, the Mets win with a walk off home run. Peter barely even cares, because he leaves with his number programmed in Stiles' phone.

Peter stops by the office on the way back to his hotel room to pick up some paperwork. Erica is still there, even though most employees have gone home, and raises her eyebrow when he walks in.

"You smell," she says. 

"You're such a charming assistant," Peter says. "Remind me why I keep you around?"

"Because I got Whittemore to go down $500,000?" Erica says.

Peter blinks at that, a little surprised, though he knows he shouldn't be. Erica is quite ferocious and...tenacious when she tries to be. Peter's glad (most days) that she works for him. 

"Congratulations," he says. "You just earned a bonus."

Erica grins as he walks past her to pick up the briefcase he'd left behind.

"You still smell like beer and arousal," Erica calls.

Peter ignores her, grabs his briefcase from the office, and walks past her again.

"Come on, it's late," Peter says. "I'll even share a cab with you back to the hotel if you keep your nose to yourself."

He only threatens to kick her out of the cab twice.

It's later, after dinner in the hotel's restaurant and a phone call from his niece, Cora, that Peter is sitting in bed propped up against the headboard. It's not the most comfortable mattress, despite the outrageous cost of the room, but it serves the purpose fine. He tries to relax and opens up a sketch book and pencil and lets his hands flow over the paper. 

This is why he'd started Hale Fashion all those years ago. This is what he wants to do, not sit in tedious board meetings and deal with mergers. He wants to let his creativity flow from the paper to the real world and to watch his designs come to life. He sits there for a long time, sketching erasing and re-sketching until his phone buzzes and jerks him out of his creative haze. He's acutely irritated until he sees it's a text from Stiles. He snorts when he opens it. It's a picture of Stiles in a bar with a laughing man behind him, Stiles looking decidedly unimpressed. Half his shirt is soaked.

_From: Stiles  
Isaac spilled beer all over my shirt. Are you sure you sure you two don't know each other?_

Peter texts him back almost immediately. 

**To: Stiles  
Of course not. I wouldn't let a friend of mine wear a scarf from a collection four seasons old.**

Stiles' text comes back less than a minute later.

_From: Stiles  
I'll tell him you said that. Maybe I can make him cry. He loves his scarves._

**To: Stiles  
Good. Who is Isaac?**

Peter's hoping not a boyfriend. It's irrational of course, he has no claim over Stiles. He's known him less than twenty-four hours, but that little possessive streak he has rears its ugly head anyway.

_From: Stiles  
My replacement_

**To: Stiles  
Your what?**

Stiles doesn't answer for a few minutes, so Peter goes back to sketching, trying to lie to himself that he isn't waiting excitedly for Stiles' response. 

_From: Stiles  
I guess that's a bit dramatic. Scott and I couldn't get in the same dorm when we were in college. He got paired with Isaac and they've been disgustingly chummy since. Then Isaac went and got Scott a job with his company, and we've been stuck with him since. Instead of me and Scott, it's me and ScottandIsaac._

So, Stiles has a little possessive streak of his own. How interesting.

**To: Stiles  
You could always strangle him with his knockoff Prada scarf.**

_From: Stiles  
Of course you would advocate murder_

**To: Stiles  
I'm a practical man. **

_From: Stiles  
I mean, I didn't say no_

Peter snorts and sets aside his sketch pad, knowing he isn't going to get much work done tonight, and really, he isn't too concerned about that.

**To: Stiles  
Why are you texting me if you're out with your friends?**

_From: Stiles  
Scott and his girlfriend are sucking face in the corner and Isaac is trying to pick up the bartender_

Then, a second later.

_From: Stiles  
Do you want me to stop?_

**To: Stiles  
I didn't say that.**

They chat for a bit, later than Peter would normally stay up, though he doesn't particularly care. There's a bit of a lull after Stiles sends him a picture of Isaac with water dripping off his face from the bartender who didn't appreciate his advances, while Stiles and his friends catch a cab home. Peter thinks that's it for the night and settles down to try to sleep, when his phone buzzes once more.

_From: Stiles  
Goodnight, Peter_

**To: Stiles  
Goodnight Stiles.**

\---

"Scott, I'm telling you, I think he's the most attractive man I've ever met," Stiles says, sitting across from Scott at the kitchen table in their cramped apartment. Scott just hums under his breath, not looking up from the application in front of him. "Are you even listening?"

"Yeah," Scott says, looking up. "He's got a great neck, good shoulders, pretty eyes, you said that already."

"I have to listen to you wax poetic about Kira all the time," Stiles says.

"Yeah, and you complain about it all the time," Scott says. 

"Whatever," Stiles grumbles and lets Scott get back to the paperwork in front of him. 

While Stiles had graduated from NYU, it hadn't been a great fit for Scott, and he'd withdrawn, instead getting a job at a local vet clinic like he had in high school in addition to the office job Isaac got him. Apparently he'd found his calling, because he's looking into going back to school to be a veterinarian. And yeah, Stiles is happy for him, but come on, all through high school Stiles had had to listen to how perfect Allison was, even after their breakup, and since Kira came into the picture, it's been even worse. You'd think Scott could spare a few minutes of attention, but whatever.

His phone buzzes with a message from Peter, so he lets Scott be. Stiles and Peter have been texting all morning, even though Peter's in a meeting. Stiles had offered to let him go and just talk later, but Peter had assured him that he's much more interesting than the meeting. 

**From: Peter  
What about you? Do you have work I'm distracting you from?**

_To: Peter  
Nah, I'm off today. My boss is at some conference and doesn't seem to trust the rest of us not to mess everything up while he's gone. It's paid time off, so I'm not worried._

**From: Peter  
I'm envious. My assistant keeps angling for something like that.**

_To: Peter  
You have an assistant? Just how important are you?_

**From: Peter  
Well, I like to think I'm the most important, but some people would disagree.**

_To: Peter  
So humble_

**From: Peter  
I don't think I even know the meaning of the word.**

"Hey, Stiles," Kira calls out. Stiles looks up to see her slipping in the front door, a bag of Chinese food in her hands. 

"Hi," Stiles calls back. "Off work early?"

"I had an early shift," Kira says. 

Kira kisses Scott before setting the food down on the table and handing Stiles his box of fried rice. Stiles really likes Kira, and not even because she feeds him. Well, not only. In high school, Scott and Allison had been in their own little world. Yeah, Allison was never mean to him and didn't mind when he was around, but Kira actively goes out of her way to include Stiles, even suggests things she thinks Stiles will like to do, even if Scott won't. She's a sweetheart of the highest order and Stiles loves her. He kisses her cheek and thanks her, digging into his food.

"So Stiles," Kira says slyly. "Tell me about this hot guy."

Stiles chokes on his rice. He takes it back, he doesn't like Kira anymore. He glares a Scott, who at least looks a bit sheepish.

"Er, was it supposed to be a secret?" he asks.

And, well, Stiles guesses not. But he can feel a crush the size of Russia coming on and he's learned for his loud and humiliating high school crush on Lydia to keep those kinds of things to himself. And sometimes Scott. Maybe not anymore. 

"I'm never telling you anything ever again," Stiles says.

"You don't have to tell me," Kira says quickly, like she didn't realize Stiles didn't know she knew. "You might want to prepare to tell Lydia, though."

" _Lydia_?" Stiles asks, rounding on Scott. 

Scott does look repentant at that. There _supposedly_ is an understanding that Stiles tells Lydia the important parts of his life in his own time, specifically so he can figure out how he feels about them before she demands details and gives her opinion, but also because Stiles thinks he has the right to tell people about his thoughts his damn self.

And okay, maybe he's getting a little worked up over nothing. He literally met Peter a day ago. They've been texting, and that's it. It's not like he's dating that man, so he's not really a secret or anything, but...it feels private. There are very few things in Stiles' life that he's able to keep to himself unless he really works for it. When his best friend's a werewolf that can literally smell and hear all his secrets, it's hard to have something that's just for him. Scott knows all of Stiles' friends, even if it's by smell alone, and where Stiles goes, again, by smell. Peter is new. Peter is Stiles'...friend? Friend, he'd say. And he doesn't feel like sharing him just yet.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Scott says. "I didn't realize it would be a big deal." 

Scott looks so sincere, so earnest, that it's hard for Stiles to really be mad, but he is still a bit agitated, so he just shrugs and says, "Okay."

Scott obviously doesn't believe him, but he doesn't push it. That's one thing about his best friend, he definitely knows when to let Stiles be. Kira shoots Stiles a worried look but Stiles just smiles a bit at her and her furrowed brow smooths out. Stiles glances down at his phone to see another text from Peter. He very carefully makes sure his face is neutral so Kira and Scott don't see the ridiculous smile that tends to creep up on his when he talks to Peter.

**From: Peter  
It seems that my punishment for skipping out on work yesterday is double the meetings today.**

_To: Peter  
You poor thing. However will you survive?_

**From: Peter  
I know. It's quite tragic.**

Stiles ignores the knowing looks he can see Kira and Scott share when they think he's not looking.

_To: Peter  
Scott asked about you last night_

**From: Peter  
Oh?**

_To: Peter  
He said I smell like a werewolf had rubbed themselves all over me_

**From: Peter  
Well, not _all_ over you. Though that can be arranged if you'd like.**

Stiles can't help the blush and smirk at that.

_To: Peter  
You're an absolute menace_

**From: Peter  
Are you free tomorrow night?**

_To: Peter  
I work until 6, but after, yeah. Why?_

**From: Peter  
I fly back to Los Angeles the day after tomorrow. Would you like to get dinner before I leave?**

Stiles freezes for a second. Peter asked to go to dinner with him. That doesn't necessarily mean he meant as a date. Why would he? He lives across the country, that's just ridiculous. But he could mean it as a date...Stiles has mostly gotten over his self esteem issues from high school, he knows he's not unattractive, but he's pretty sure he isn't close to Peter's level. Still...it could be a date. Even if it's not, he likes Peter. It's not like spending a meal with him will be a hardship.

_To: Peter  
Yeah, that'd be great_

Stiles' good mood from that carries him through the rest of the day and well into the next. It dims a little when Finstock dumps a load of work on him that absolutely _has_ to be finished _today!_ Normally, Stiles wouldn't mind. He'd stay late and finish up and just come in later tomorrow. But he has plans tonight, damn it. Plans he actually wants to keep!

Luckily, Peter seems to be immersed in work as well and doesn't seem offended when Stiles can't text back as quickly as he had the day before. Stiles sends him a selfie next to his pile of paperwork that is literally over a foot high at this point. He gets one back of Peter rolling his eyes spectacularly, saying **My assistant is the only smart one in this meeting with me, I swear.**

Stiles actually does end up staying ten minutes late, which means he's in a rush to get home and doesn't have time to shower before Peter picks him up. He changes his clothes into the nicest he owns (jeans without holes in them and a deep blue button down that Lydia had bought him for his birthday) before attempting to tackle his hair. Usually he doesn't do much to do, more of a hassle than it's worth, but even if this isn't a date, he still is struck by the need to impress Peter, and that's not an urge he gets a lot. And Scott's out with Kira, so he can't even make fun of him (or tattle to Lydia) about Stiles' fussing.

Peter arrives at exactly 6:30, of course he does, and knocks on Stiles' door. Stiles can't help but grin when he opens the door and damn, Peter looks good. He's changed out of the dark suit he'd been wearing earlier and into black slacks and a deep, white v-neck sweater, but he still looks much more put together than Stiles does.

"How'd you get in?" Stiles asks. He steps out and closes the door, locking it behind him. It wouldn't do to let another werewolf into somewhere that Scott considers his den. "Pretty sure I didn't buzz you up."

"Someone held the door open for me," Peter says. "Considering you don't live in exactly the best part of town, your neighbors are alarmingly lax about security."

Stiles shrugs and leads Peter down the hall to the stairs. The elevator is, of course, broken. 

"It's what we can afford. We're technically illegally subletting it from some lady who's lived here forever, so thanks to rent control it's a freakin' steal," Stiles says, nudging Peter with his elbow. "We can't all wear $1,000 suits."

"Don't be absurd," Peter says, smirking a little. "It was $2,500."

Stiles shakes his head. "You know I could have paid for almost a semester of school with that? And you just _wear it_?"

It's Peter's turn to shrug and says, "I have expensive taste."

"You'd get along fabulously with Lydia," Stiles says. The reach the bottom of the stairs and out the door. Peter had somehow found a parking spot nearby, miracle of miracles, and Stiles gapes for a second until his brain comes back online. "Of course you drive a Jag."

"Like I said, I enjoy my creature comforts," Peter says.

"I feel like I'm living in an alternate reality. Is this going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?" Stiles says as he slides onto the soft, leather seats. "I'm pretty sure these seats are softer than my mattress. Wow, I'm glad we didn't take my jeep, you'd probably get hives just from looking at it."

"I'm not that much of a snob," Peter assures him.

"You say that now," Stiles teases. 

Peter rolls his eyes but starts the car, the engine purring to life. He glances over at Stiles and smiles softly. He says, "You look magnificent tonight," before turning his attention back to the road and pulling out of the parking spot. Stiles is glad Peter isn't looking at can't see his blush, but by the self-satisfied smirk on Peter's face, he probably knows it's there. Smug bastard.

Peter takes them to a restaurant with a fancy name that Stiles can't pronounce. He's glad he dressed his best, because everyone, minus a few, is dressed nicer than he is. Peter doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. There are quite a few people waiting, but they get seated right away and Stiles wonders again just what kind of clout, or money to throw around, Peter has.

"Do you have a wine preference?" Peter asks, glancing over the wine menu. 

"Not really," Stiles says with a shrug. "The only time I ever drink wine is when Lydia brings a bottle over for wine and whine Wednesday. I guess I like white better than red?"

Peter hums.

"Would you be offended if I made a suggestion?" Peter asks.

"Would that stop you?" Stiles asks and Peter smirks. "Nah, dude, go ahead."

Stiles lets Peter order both of them glasses of wine, though Peter's is the special wolfsbane blend that will allow the werewolf to feel the drink a little bit. The wine is good, a lot better than he had been expecting. Lydia doesn't exactly skimp on quality, but he still has the feeling that this isn't exactly in the realm of what they usually drink.

"Cheers," Peter says, clinking his glass against Stiles'.

"Cheers," Stiles echos. He takes a sip and before he can stop himself, blurts out, "So is this a date?" As soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes widen. "I swear, I did not mean to say that. I mean, not that I don't want to - I mean, you can probably smell attraction so - see, this is why I'm not allowed out in public!"

Peter surveys Stiles with mild amusement, but not in a way that makes it seem like he's laughing at Stiles, which is good because Stiles would probably have just gotten up and left if he had. He has a little bit of pride left, after all.

"I would like it to be one," Peter says. When Stiles looks confused, he clarifies, "A date. If that's not what you want, I'm more than happy to enjoy a meal as friends."

"Even though I'm just human? And live on the other side of country than you? And you look like a freaking supermodel?" Stiles asks. 

"I'm reasonably sure you're not 'just' anything. You being human doesn't matter," Peter says indifferently. "While it's true that most of my time is spent in LA, I do make quite a few trips to New York. And phones do exist." Peter's voice is teasing and Stiles enjoys it entirely too much, but he really wants to shiver when it drops to a purr as Peter says, "As far as supermodels go, I do know a fair few, but none look quite as delicious as you."

Stiles jaw drops but before he can say anything embarrassing, the waiter is back refilling their glasses and taking their orders. Stiles is pretty sure he orders a pasta dish, but his mind is still on what Peter said. Peter who, now that the waiter has taken their order and walked away, is studying Stiles with his eyebrows raised, as if waiting.

"Is that amenable to you?" Peter asks and Stiles realizes wow, he hasn't even answered him yet.

"Yeah," Stiles says immediately, nearly tripping on his words. "Yes, very much so. I'd like that."

"I don't know if you know, but most werewolves tend to only date one person at a time," Peter says carefully. "I'm not asking you to profess undying loyalty to me, but I won't be seeing anyone else, so you're aware."

"It's not like there's a line of people waiting to ask me out," Stiles says. "But I'm kinda like that, too, so even if there were, I prefer to focus on one person and I'd like that to be you."

Peter smiles at that and fuck, Stiles is really fucked.

\---

Peter thinks he's made a mistake. 

Not in asking Stiles out, oh no. Not by a long shot. His mistake is probably him assuming he would be able to control this, the desire he feels for Stiles, and make logical choices. Usually that's not an issue for him. He's deeply in tune with his wolf, the logical and instinctual parts of his mind working seamlessly together, but he's having to focus a little harder than usual right now. Instinct wants him to kiss Stiles here, claim him so everyone can tell that Stiles is his. He wants to sucks marks onto the soft flesh of Stiles' neck, to rub his scent all over him until no one has any doubts. All in all, it's a bit much for someone he just met two days ago.

Stiles is _interesting_ in a way so few are. His mind is beautiful as it flows from one topic to the next, making leaps in logic that Peter can see, and some that even surprise him, but always make sense when he thinks about it. Peter barely pays attention to eating, despite how good the food is, too busy focusing on his conversation. Stiles gestures wildly, almost knocking a plate out of a waiter's hand once. Peter tries not to find it charming, and fails. It doesn't matter that some people would fine their topics of conversation bizarre (sexuality in 19th century Europe), Peter's enjoying himself, and not many people can say they've caused that.

"Why New York?" Peter asks over dessert. Stiles has a slice of cheesecake and Peter a scoop of gelato. 

"I wanted to go to NYU," Stiles says. "My mom went there and I always wanted to follow in her footsteps in that way, ya know?"

There's a whiff of sadness when Stiles says it, enough that Peter can guess that Stiles' mom is no longer in the picture.

"Why'd you stay?" Peter asks.

"I dunno, I like the big city. I grew up in a smaller town and it just was kind of stifling. So this is great. It's big, there's always stuff going on. I might move back home eventually, and sometimes I miss Beacon Hills a bit - are you okay?" Stiles asks, cutting himself off when Peter chokes on a sip of his wine. Peter nods and clears his throat a few times before attempting to speak.

"Beacon Hills?" Peter asks. He takes a sip of his water to try to make his voice less hoarse.

"Yeah, it's a town in northern California," Stiles says.

"I know," Peter says. "I lived there."

"You what now?" Stiles asks.

"I grew up in Beacon Hills. Well, on the outskirts," Peter says.

Stiles frowns a bit, then a bit of comprehension draws. "Peter Hale?" Stiles asks. "Part of the Hale pack that lives out in the preserve?" 

"Before I left for college, yes," Peter says. 

And that's just....not what he had expected. Of all the people to run into, Peter meets someone from quiet little Beacon Hills all the way across the country at a baseball game. He'd be suspicious (what _are_ the odds?) but Stiles had sounded and smelled genuinely surprised at the revelation. 

"I guess that makes sense why I didn't recognize you, you're enough years older than me to have been at college before I really noticed you," Stiles says.

"Not that much older," Peter grumbles, making Stiles laugh. He can seem the gleam in Stiles' eye though, and knows he's holding back a barrage of questions. He's hoping it's not about the Argents and the attempted arson. It's something he'd rather forget, and something that inevitably gets dragged up once a year in the tabloids when they're running low on other stories. "Yes?" Peter asks.

"Is it true that there's a naiad living in the preserve?" he asks, leaning forward excitedly. 

Peter blinks for a second, then smiles.

"No. She did pass through, though," Peter says.

"Shut up, really?"

"Really."

Stiles quizzes Peter on the supernatural for a while longer, and Peter finds that he doesn't mind. Stiles isn't doing it to be nosy, he's just naturally inquisitive and that's the kind of curiosity that Peter doesn't mind indulging. While Stiles knows a lot, a shocking amount for a human that isn't affiliated with a pack, it's all information he's put together on his own through guesswork with a bitten werewolf best friend, and his eyes light up with excitement when Peter confirms that something he'd guessed is right. 

They take a walk after dinner, neither one of them quite ready for the night to be over. It's a warm night with a soft breeze. Peter's never really found New York to be romantic. Sure, he likes it well enough. It smells and is loud, especially to his werewolf senses, and there's a lot to do and see. For all the excitement New York gives though, romantic is not something he'd associated with it. Now, he's walking down a softly lit street with Stiles, the wind catching them every once in a while as they talk. They walk slowly, drawing out the time they're together. Peter's hand finds Stiles', tangles their fingers together, and Stiles holds tight. Peter is turning into a sap of the highest order. If Talia could see him now, she'd probably have him tested for possession or mind control.

Eventually, Stiles starts yawning and even Peter has to admit he's getting tired. It's much later than he'd thought, he has a plane to catch at 6:00 a.m., and Stiles has to work tomorrow. Neither of them seem particularly thrilled about it, especially when Peter pulls over in front of Stiles' building and they both climb out of the car. There's a car alarm going off down the block, there's a man muttering to a wall a few doors down, and there's a very foul smelling cat up a nearby tree; all in all, not the most romantic environment, but Peter pushes all of this to the back of his mind and tugs Stiles closer until their chests are pressed together. Stiles' breath catches as Peter nudges their noses together, then slowly presses his lips to Stiles'. 

It's not Peter's first kiss, not by a long shot, but the exhilaration he gets from it makes it feel like it is. That's when he knows he's truly fucked. It's not even a deep kiss, though he wouldn't call it chaste. It's heated, Stiles pressing closer to Peter, grasping at the man's arms. If Peter's eyes were open, he's sure they'd be flashing electric blue. When Stiles pulls away, he looks just as wrecked as Peter feels.

"Wow," Stiles says. 

"Mmhmm," Peter hums. 

Peter presses closer and it's hard to not devour Stiles right there. His wolf wants to, he wants to, and by the scent of Stiles' arousal, he wants to as well. But this isn't something Peter wants to gamble with. He doesn't want to turn this into a one-night stand. He wants Stiles. He wants all of him.

"I enjoyed this," Peter says, brushing his nose against Stiles' temple before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"Me too," Stiles says breathlessly. 

"As much as I hate to, I really do need to go. My flight is quite early," Peter says. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," Stiles ways with a grin.

"Goodnight, Stiles," Peter says.

"Goodnight, Peter."

Stiles looks extremely reluctant to part, glancing over his shoulder at Peter one last time before he walks into his building. Peter waits until he can't hear Stiles' footsteps on the stairs anymore before turning around and getting into his car. It's late, very late. He needs to be up in three hours to head to the airport. Peter doesn't give a damn and wouldn't trade a second of the night.

Peter only gets about two hours of sleep before he has to wake up and leave for the airport. He's grumpy and tired, but he still gets up and does his morning regimen, not leaving the room until he looks as immaculate as always. Erica's waiting for him in the hotel lobby and even though she is as put together as he is, there's no hiding her exhaustion. 

"Did you not sleep?" Peter asks was they walk to the hotel's parking garage.

"Did you?" Erica asks.

"I had a few hours," Peter says.

"Same. Whittemore's people called at 10:00 last night trying to wiggle another clause into the contract," Erica says. "So I was on the phone with them until 1:00 a.m."

"Why didn't you call me?" Peter asks. "What did they want?"

"You were out, and you rarely do that," Erica says with a shrug. "I figured you earned your night off. They just wanted to add an addendum to keep more stock options."

"What'd you tell them?" Peter asks. They load their luggage into the rental Jaguar's trunk, then slide into the car.

"I was nice and polite, don't worry," Erica says. "...For the first hour. I finally just told them they've already signed the contract and we aren't going back to the negotiating table."

"Good," Peter says. 

"Are you sure we needed to buy them out?" Erica asks. 

"Yes," Peter says. "As unpleasant as dealing with them is, they have a strong presence in the young adult market."

Erica humphs, but doesn't disagree. He's actually rather impressed with how she's dealt with the whole buyout process. He'd hired her because she's competent, of course, but also because she was the only one he interviewed who would look him in the eye without smelling of fear. Nerves, yes, but not fear. She's been an exceedingly good assistant, anticipating his needs and doing her job quickly and efficiently, and has actually been instrumental in the whole Whittemore deal. Plus, he actually likes her.

"I'm giving you a raise," Peter says as he pulls onto the street.

Erica blinks in surprise. 

"Not that I'm complaining, but why?" Erica asks.

"You've been working hard, you've earned it," Peter says.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Erica grin, and her scent takes on an air of contentment. But of course, she has to poke at it.

"Aw, you like me!" Erica says.

"I do not," Peter says. "Don't push it."

"You so do. Am I your favorite employee?" Erica asks.

"That's not a hard position to take," Peter says.

"That's not a no!" Erica says.

Peter sighs.

They both plan on working on the plane, but there's enough turbulence that it's hard to even read the papers in front of him, let alone get anything accomplished. After Erica yawns next to him for the third time in as many minutes, triggering his own yawn, he gives up and packs everything away. Normally it's hard for him to sleep on planes, even in the comfortable first class cabin, but the lack of sleep from the night before and pure exhaustion from the entire trip drag him under quickly.

Peter wakes about fifteen minutes before they land. Erica is asleep, her head resting on Peter's shoulder, and he feels an uncharacteristic bout of generosity and lets her sleep until they touch down. When he takes his phone out of airplane mode, he's pleased to see a text from Stiles waiting.

_From: Stiles  
You make it there all right?_

**To: Stiles  
We just landed. I slept the majority of the flight. My assistant fell asleep on my shoulder. And drooled.**

_From: Stiles  
LOL oh no, however will you survive_

**To: Stiles  
Brat**

_From: Stiles  
Well I mean, yeah_

Peter smirks a bit, then has to put his phone away while they disembark. He'd planned on going straight to the office, but he's tired, he's grumpy, and Erica is as well. He sends them both home instead and says they'll pick it up in the morning. Erica looks relieved.

Peter's home is large, beautiful, and quiet, nestled in the Holmby Hills area. It's not the largest in the area, but it definitely isn't the smallest either. He has plenty of guest rooms, a large backyard, every luxury he could want, but still, it's quiet. Most of the time, that's the way he likes it. Growing up in a large pack grants one very little privacy and as soon as Peter was able to live alone, he'd jumped at the chance. And he loves it, mostly. Sometimes, though, especially when he comes home from a business trip, he feels a pang of loneliness. His niece and nephew, Laura and Derek, live a short drive away, but it's not really the same.

He's just finished unpacking and starting his laundry when his phone rings. If it's Erica with another Whittemore problem, he's not answering. If it's Talia about the damn reunion, he's definitely not answering. But it's not, it's Stiles.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Peter says when he answers the phone.

_"Well, hello to you, too,"_ Stiles says. _"And nah, I'm on lunch. I can let you go if you need me to?"_

Peter shakes his head, even though Stiles can't see it. That pesky self-esteem problem is something that they're definitely going to need to work on.

"You're always welcome to call me, sweetheart. I can't guarantee that I'll always be able to answer, but I will when I can," Peter says.

_"I thought I'd end up going to voicemail anyway,"_ Stiles admits. _"Aren't you working?"_

"I decided to take the day off," Peter says. He reclines back onto his bed (which feels so, so good after the hotel mattress). "The place won't fall apart without me for one day."

_"I wish I could do that, but I already called out to go to the game the other day. Which worked out pretty well for me, actually. Maybe I should call out more often,"_ Stiles says.

"I have a feeling your boss would have strong opinions about that," Peter says.

Stiles heaves a dramatic sigh and says, _"Yeah, I guess. Fine, I'll be a responsible adult."_

"Such a hardship," Peter says.

_"It really is,"_ Stiles says. 

They chat for a bit longer, Stiles telling him about the woman in his building that's always trying to foist her baked goods on him, and that they're really, really terrible, but he feels guilty not taking them since she seems lonely. Peter tells him about the fall line he's working on, about how his fellow designers are taking their sweet time to finish their designs.

_"Maybe they're scared of you and your perfectionist tendencies,"_ Stiles says.

"I do like to instill a healthy level of fear," Peter says.

Stiles snorts but before he can answer, there's a good deal of shouting in the background. Stiles heaves a sigh. _"That's my cue. Finstock is pretty close to a meltdown, I think,"_ Stiles says. _"But Greenberg's dad is high up in the company so he can't really fire him."_

"What a pity," Peter says. "One of the joys of management is the ability to fire people."

_"Of course you'd think that,"_ Stiles says, laughing slightly. _"I have to go. I'll talk to you later?"_

"Absolutely. Enjoy your day, sweetheart," Peter says.

_"You too,"_ Stiles says.

Peter ends the call in a much better mood than before, but he's still exhausted. He really wants to nap, but something Stiles had said about the 'turquoise, ocean jewel of a jeep' he owns has given Peter a bit of an idea for a dress he's be experimenting with, so he pulls out a sketchpad and pencil that he keeps near his bed (he has some scattered throughout his house just in case inspiration strikes). He works for a few hours, not even noticing the time or that he should probably eat soon, until the design in front of him is beautiful and perfect. 

Of course Stiles would act like a muse, the adorable little idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles doesn't tell anyone he's dating Peter. He's not ashamed, not even close, but this feels big and important, and he wants to have it all for himself before other people get involved. He loves his friends, he really does, but they're all really fucking nosy. He's already getting a lot of teasing for his 'long distance crush' on Peter, so he can't imagine how insufferable they'd all be if they knew he and Peter are dating.

Stiles gets a happy flutter in his chest when he remembers that yeah, Peter's dating him. He's dating Peter, _Peter_ , Peter who is sharp edges, sarcastic, smooth-talking, beautiful, and dangerous. And make no mistake, Peter is dangerous. Stiles had known that even before he'd pulled a few strings and had a friend in the sheriff's department run Peter for a background check. There are some people that just have that aura around them of someone who is powerful and capable of dangerous things, and Peter has that in spades. 

The police report tells Stiles about the attempted arson by Kate Argent, a member of a fanatical old hunting family, which he'd known about. It also tells him that Peter killed Kate Argent, which Stiles hadn't known. Peter was never charged, the death being a clear case of self-defense (Peter was half-burned and trying to keep her from killing his family). It should probably bother Stiles that the man he's seeing has killed someone. It doesn't. 

Kate Argent had tried to burn the Hales alive. If Peter's little four-year-old human niece hadn't been able to break the mountain ash barrier, she would have succeeded. According to the report, as soon as the line had broken, Peter had sprinted past to where Kate Argent was raising her gun to fire on Peter's niece, and had ripped her throat out. She'd been dead before she'd hit the ground. Stiles has no idea how that was hushed up, but he strongly suspects a lot of money was involved. 

Stiles thinks about it, really thinks on what he would do if someone tried to do that to his dad, or Scott, or Lydia. Hell, even Kira or Isaac. Stiles doesn't blame Peter one little bit.

"Stiles!" Scott calls when he unlocks the door and walks into the apartment. 

It's evening, Stiles having gotten home from work barely an hour ago. He's sitting on the couch in sweats and a ratty old t-shirt playing on his PS4. He grunts in response, not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"You have a package," Scott says.

"A what?" Stiles asks, distracted.

"A package," Scott repeats, and he sounds entirely too amused. "You know, a box with something in it?"

Stiles does pause the game at that and looks over in surprise. Sure enough, Scott's carrying a large box in his hands. 

"I didn't order anything from Amazon drunk again, did I?" Stiles asks.

"It doesn't say Amazon on the box," Scott says.

"Huh..."

Stiles gets up and inspects the box. It's just an average shipping box, no labels anywhere expect for what's been put on by the shipping company. He doesn't think he's important enough for someone to send him a bomb or something. Then he notices the return address is Los Angeles and it clicks.

"Peter," Stiles says under his breath.

"Peter?" Scott asks, because of course he can hear that. "What about him? Did he send this?"

"I think so," Stiles says. "I don't know anyone else in LA."

"Well, open it, dude!" Scott says.

Stiles doesn't have to be told twice, his own curiosity already making him act. He rips off the packing tape and pulls open the box to see a mass of artfully placed tissue paper and a card sitting on top. 

_Stiles,_

_I think these will look lovely on you. Truly though, you look lovely in anything._

_Peter_

Bewildered, Stiles pulls back the tissues paper to see - 

"Clothes?" Scott asks. "Why'd he send you clothes? That's a grandma gift."

"He works in fashion, Scott," Stiles says, pulling out the first shirt. It's a deep blue, similar to one Peter's seen him wear when they've Skyped, but this one feels like it's made from a cloud, holy god, what is this material? 

Stiles keeps pulling out shirt after shirt. Some are button downs, a few henleys, a single v-neck, which makes Stiles snort. There are a few pairs of new, dark jeans and a pair of nice dress pants.

"Did he buy you a whole new wardrobe?" Scott asks incredulously. 

He has a fair point, the box is deep, but at the bottom are two shoe boxes. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"He said it was a travesty that I don't have any nice shoes, and that Converse that don't have mud on them don't count," Stiles says.

Stiles opens one box and sure enough, black dress shoes. The other box has a similar pair, only in brown. Stiles looks at the clothes spread over the kitchen table with a stunned look. He doesn't think anyone has spent this much on him ever and yeah, Stiles doesn't know shit about fashion, but he can tell this isn't Walmart brand. Scott's phone buzzing breaks Stiles from his musings.

"Kira's here, I'm going to run down and let her in," Scott says.

"Okay," Stiles says. 

Stiles packs everything back into the box and takes it to his room, knowing that with Kira comes food, and Scott isn't exactly the neatest eater. Stiles closes the door to his room and sits down on his bed, deciding it's probably nicer to thank Peter face-to-face, well, as close to that as possible. He pulls out his phone and FaceTimes Peter, not sure if he'll answer or not. Barely a few seconds later, Peter's face fills Stiles' screen.

_"Hello, Stiles,"_ Peter says, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Is this your way of saying I dress badly?" Stiles asks, smirking a bit.

_"Of course not,"_ Peter says. _"I just thought I'd add some diversity to your wardrobe."_

"Uh huh," Stiles says, and even to his own ears he sounds fond. "I'm not your own personal Barbie doll."

_"You're much prettier than Barbie could ever be,"_ Peter says, then chuckles. _"Ah, there's that blush."_

"You're a dick," Stiles says and damn it, that sounds fond, too.

_"I mean, if you want to talk about my dick..."_

"Not when Scott's home!" Stiles says. "There are some things my best friend definitely doesn't need to hear."

_"So you're not opposed to the idea in general,"_ Peter says, smirking.

They haven't talked about it, not really. Sure, they've traded dirty innuendos back and forth, chatted vaguely about sex, but not really how it relates to them. It's like they're both egging the other on, seeing who cracks first. Stiles is honestly shocked that it's Peter. He's never really been much to keep what he wants to himself.

"No," says, grinning. "Not opposed to that at all."

_"Hmm, good to know,"_ Peter says. _"On a completely unrelated topic, I'm going to be in New York in two weeks if you're free."_

"Totally unrelated topic, those two don't go hand-in-hand at all," Stiles says, but he's grinning. It's been three weeks since he's seen Peter. Three weeks of texting, Skyping, FaceTiming. Three weeks of remembering how exhilarating it is to be kissed by Peter, and really, really wishing he could do it again. "I guess I could move some things around, clear my busy schedule."

_"Hmm, yes, it must be hard to rearrange Call of Duty nights with Scott,"_ Peter says.

"Hey!" Stiles says. "I do other things!" 

_"Dinner with Lydia? Phone call to your dad?"_

"Thanks for reminding me how unfulfilling my life is," Stiles grumbles.

Peter's eyes soften.

_"I didn't mean it that way, Stiles,"_ Peter says. 

"I know," Stiles says. "Sorry."

_"You have no need to apologize, sweetheart,"_ Peter says. _"I didn't realize it was a sensitive topic."_

"It's not a big deal," Stiles says. "It's just like...all right, I did what you're supposed to, right? I got good grades in high school, I went to a good college, I graduated with honors. And what do I get for it? A boring office job doing bullshit all day. We're told from like preschool on, 'Oh, you can do anything! The sky is the limit!' But then we're put through the school gauntlet that was designed to turn kids into factory workers based on the Ford assembly line and we churn out a bunch of kids who are told they're special and gifted and made for something exciting, then they get out of school and in this shitty economy can only get shitty jobs unless you know someone and it's like cool, now we all feel like total failures."

Stiles blinks a bit and yeah, okay he really wasn't planning on saying all that. He's half expecting Peter to roll his eyes and make a disparaging comment about the younger generation, but he doesn't.

_"You're not wrong,"_ Peter says. _"But I do want you to know that your value is not based on your career. What you do for work does not make you more or less worthy as a person."_

"I know," Stiles says with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He really wishes Peter were here now. He smiles slightly at Peter. "Thanks. It just feels very defeating sometimes."

_"I know, darling,"_ Peter says. _"I hope you know that I would want you whether you were an office worker, CEO, or professional goat wrangler."_

Stiles laughs, and Peter looks pleased that he was able to do that. 

"You softie," Stiles says.

_"Don't tell anyone,"_ Peter says. _"I have an image to uphold."_

"Right, as a snarky bastard?"

_"That's the one."_

Stiles smirks. 

"Thank you, Peter," Stiles says. "And thanks for the clothes. You'll make a well-dressed man out of me yet."

_"You're welcome,"_ Peter says.

They talk for a bit longer, until Scott shouts to Stiles that his food is getting cold. Stiles sighs, but promises Peter they'll talk tomorrow. When Stiles walks back out into the kitchen, Kira and Scott are giving him knowing looks.

"What?" Stiles asks.

"Who was that?" Scott asks.

"Peter," Stiles says with a shrug. "I was thanking him for the gift."

"Ooh, what gift?" Kira asks.

"He sent Stiles a big box of clothes," Scott says.

"He works in fashion!" Stiles says. "It's not as weird as it sounds!"

"It doesn't sound weird, it sounds sweet," Kira says. "He's sharing his passion with you."

"Anything else he's sharing with you?" Scott asks suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That doesn't even make sense, Scott," Stiles says. "Now, where's my chow mein?"

It's a few days later that Stiles has his weekly lunch with Lydia. Well, he uses the work 'weekly' very loosely. She just got back from a trip to Paris that had cut into their schedule a bit. Now that she's back, she insists that they keep up their weekly tradition. 

Since it's Lydia's turn to pick, they end up at a very healthy restaurant that boasts $20 salads and where Stiles doesn't even have the option of ordering a burger. Lydia deals with Thai food when it's his turn to choose, so he doesn't complain, even if the salad is boring. 

Stiles is wearing the dark jeans from Peter and the cream henley and he has to admit, his ass looks fantastic and it's actually really comfortable. Lydia eyes his clothes but doesn't say anything until they sit down and the waiter takes their drink order.

"I haven't seen you wear that before," Lydia says. "It looks good."

"Thanks, it's new," Stiles says. 

"You went clothes shopping without me? I'm hurt," Lydia says.

"Actually, Peter sent them," Stiles says, then quickly tries to deflect by asking, "How was Paris?"

"It was Paris," Lydia says indifferently. "Nothing different from last time. What I want to know about is Peter."

"Uh, what about Peter?" Stiles asks, well aware that his face is uncomfortably hot.

"When were you planning on telling me you two are dating?" Lydia asks.

Stiles gapes at her, no idea how she found out, but he isn't going to lie to her about it.

"I...how did you know?" Stiles asks.

"I know what you're like when you're dating someone, Stiles," Lydia says with an eye roll. "Though I have to say, I'm not impressed you didn't tell me."

"It's new!" Stiles says defensively. "I wanted to have it for myself before any of you got your grubby paws on it!"

"Okay, but now it's been over four weeks since you started talking to him. I'm pretty sure you know how you feel," Lydia says.

Stiles can't help but smiling a bit.

"Yeah, I know how I feel," Stiles says. 

"Tell me about him," Lydia says, but she's smiling too.

"He's...older than me," Stiles says, waiting for a negative reaction, but Lydia just keeps looking at him attentively. "He's really smart, and a sarcastic asshole, and so hot, good god, Lydia. And he can actually keep up with me, you know? He never acts like I'm too much or anything."

"Good," Lydia says. "You really are a catch, Stiles, and I'm glad he sees that."

"Thanks," Stiles says. A few years ago, he'd have killed to hear Lydia say that about him, but it means more now. They're friends now, they know each other well, and Stiles has more than moved on from his ill-conceived crush.

"Now, let me see a picture of this hot older guy," Lydia says grinning.

Stiles can't help but grin in response and pull out his phone. The most recent picture he has of Peter is a selfie he was sent last night. Peter's at home in bed, his usually immaculate hair wet and messy from a shower. He looks soft and comfortable and Stiles had wanted to climb right in bed with him. Yeah, he doesn't show Lydia that one, instead pulling up a picture from the day before, when he sent Stiles a picture of him in a meeting, looking at the ceiling as if he were praying for strength. He flips around his phone for Lydia to see and her eyes widen.

"I know, right?" Stiles says. "Way out of my league."

"No it's not that," Lydia says. "Peter _Hale_?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, frowning. "How'd you know?"

Lydia yanks Stiles' phone out of his hand and pulls up an internet tab.

"Hey!" Stiles says.

A second later, she's handing it back, a Wikipedia page open for - 

"Peter?" Stiles asks incredulously. "What the hell?"

"Peter Hale, the owner of Hale Fashion," Lydia says. "It's one of the biggest labels in the world, Stiles, how did you not know this?"

Stiles presses the back button and sees the Google results page full of articles on Peter. Peter at fashion week, Peter at a red carpet event, Peter on Project Runway. Hell, there's even a TMZ article about Peter's love life. 

"What...just...what." Stiles' brain has ground to a halt.

"He didn't tell you?" Lydia asks.

"I knew he was a fashion designer, I didn't know he is some big famous one!" Stiles says. 

"You didn't look him up?"

"I looked up his police record! Sorry I didn't think to do an 'is he a celebrity' search!" Stiles says. "Oh my god."

Realization hits Stiles and he scrambles to yank at the collar of his shirt, trying to tug it around as if he can read the label that way. He stretches the shirt entirely too much and he's pretty sure the seams are about to pop, but out of the corner of his eye he can still read the tag. It says Hale.

"This is his," Stiles says. "He sent me some of his own clothing line."

"And he has impeccable taste, they look great on you," Lydia says.

"That is so not the point!" Stiles says. 

"Then what is the point?" Lydia asks.

"...I don't have a point," Stiles admits. "I am just...stunned. Stunned and...yeah, stunned pretty much covers it."

"What are you going to say to him?" Lydia asks.

"I have no idea," Stiles says.

Lydia narrows her eyes at him.

"Stiles. You are absolutely not going to freak out and sabotage yourself when you are actually dating someone that makes you happy, understood?" Lydia says.

"I'm not!" Stiles says, a bit defensively. "I just can't believe he didn't tell me."

"What do you expect, halfway through a date for him to say, 'Oh by the way, I'm on the cover of magazines'?" Lydia asks. "He probably _likes_ that you didn't know who he is. I'd imagine he has had many people in his life trying to get close to him just for fame or money."

And, well, that's a very good point. Stiles hasn't seen any of Peter's insecurities, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have them. And really, does it change anything for Stiles? If they stay together for the long run (which Stiles is already really hoping they do), he'll probably have to deal with paparazzi at some point, and meeting other Famous Important People, and the possibility that he'll have to bat off people with a stick that are trying to steal Peter out from under him (not that he's particularly worried about that, Peter's intensely loyal). Does any of that change how Stiles feels about him? No, not at all.

"I'm not going to freak out and sabotage myself," Stiles says. 

"Good," Lydia says.

It's hard to focus on lunch after that. He gives Lydia as much attention as he can, but he's still spinning a bit at the revelation that Peter has celebrity status. That he, Stiles Stilinski, is dating someone rich and famous. It sounds ridiculous to even say in his head but well, there you have it.

Lydia isn't stupid and can tell his attention isn't all there, even though he nods along and talks when prompted. Usually they walk around for a bit after lunch, maybe see a movie, but today Stiles thinks he might be too antsy for that. Lydia finally sighs and just tells him to go talk to Peter, that he will be useless until he does. Stiles kisses her on the cheek, tosses some cash on the table, and leaves the restaurant. 

Scott isn't there when Stiles gets home, which is a relief. He'd really rather not have to talk to anyone else right now. Stiles instead lies on his bed and scrolls through the pictures of Peter he found on Google. Peter looking stunning on the red carpet for some movie premiere. Candid shots of Peter on the beach with a gorgeous brunette that Stiles is relieved to see is his niece, Laura. Peter talking with a member of the British royal family, the _royal family_.

Stiles saves that last picture and sends it to Peter a text says _So...you rub elbows with duchesses..._

Peter's response comes less than five minutes later.

**From: Peter  
Well, not often. Just the one time. I designed a dress for her daughter's wedding.**

_To: Peter  
Dude. I had absolutely no idea that you're a fancy shmancy celebrity. There are TMZ articles about you!_

**From: Peter  
There are, though they aren't particularly accurate.**

_To: Peter  
Were you ever going to tell me?_

Stiles jumps when his phone rings. 

_"My opening line isn't usually, 'Hello, I'm Peter Hale. I'm famous',"_ Peter says. 

"Okay, yeah, but we've been dating for over a month now, ever planning on mentioning your star status?" Stiles says.

Peter sighs and Stiles can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

_"My last relationship...didn't end well,"_ Peter says and Stiles sits up a little straighter, because Stiles has heard absolutely nothing about Peter's exes until now. _"Her name was Elizabeth. She was a sweet woman, came from a well-respected werewolf family. We were together for three years and I loved her. I was even planning to marry her. Come to find out, she was sleeping with my former business manager and just wanted the boost into the spotlight that I could provide."_

"Jesus, Peter..." Stiles says. "What happened?"

_"She went on to star in a Hallmark movie before falling flat on her face and crawling back to her pack in Chicago,"_ Peter says. _"She also claimed that my niece Cora had clawed up her car, though that was never proven."_

"Go Cora," Stiles says. "Peter, I'm so sorry."

_"That was around eight years ago, so you'll see plenty of tabloid articles about what a playboy I am and all the poor, naive women and men I've bedded,"_ Peter says and even without seeing him, Stiles absolutely knows that Peter is rolling his eyes. _"And as callous as this sounds, they have all been nothing but playthings. That sounds worse than it is, all parties were aware of the casual nature when we started. But that's what I've been doing since Elizabeth. Until you."_

"Until me?" Stiles asks.

_"Yes,"_ Peter says. _"I didn't mention anything about my 'star status', as you say, because I wanted to get to know you as you, and have you get to know me as I am, not as someone in the public's eye. I wanted to see if I could trust you."_

"And?" Stiles asks.

_"Of course I can,"_ Peter says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. _"There was just never a good opportunity to drop the celebrity bombshell in conversation. I like you, Stiles. I care about you deeply. I don't want to lose you because of my work."_

"You won't," Stiles says quickly and wow, way to go, Stiles, good job not mentioning that earlier. "It's not, I'm not mad or anything! I was just thrown. I really like you, Peter. I'm not going anywhere."

Peter's sigh of relief is loud down the line. 

_"I'm glad to hear it,"_ Peter says. _"Now tell me, how'd you figure it out?"_

"Lydia," Stiles says. "She wanted to see a picture of the hot, older guy I'm dating."

_"Not that much older,"_ Peter says, as he always does. 

"Anyway, she recognized you, looked at me like I'm an idiot, and told me who you are," Stiles says.

_"I'm honestly surprised you didn't find out yourself. You are 'the king of research', after all,"_ Peter says.

"I did research!" Stiles says. "I got a hold of your police records! And I gotta say, dude, you have a speeding ticket problem."

Peter laughs at that.

_"You devious little shit,"_ Peter says fondly, then pauses. _"I'm assuming that also means you found out about Kate Argent."_

"Yeah," Stiles says. "And I don't give a damn. I'd have done the same thing."

_"I got truly lucky with you, sweetheart._

\--- 

The weeks leading up to his trip to New York keep Peter busy. Fashion Week is still months away, but preparations are in full swing, along with the fall collection and the headache from folding Whittemore Designs into Hale Fashion. He'd never admit it to Erica, but there's definitely a part of him that wishes they had killed the buyout simply because he hates having to deal with the Whittemore employees. 

Boyd has been in New York overseeing the transition, but the uppity fucks aren't particularly keen on listening to him. Whether it's racism, bias against werewolves, or just plain stubbornness, Peter doesn't know. Nor does he particularly care. Part of his trip is going to be to clean house. He'd given all of the Whittemore people the opportunity to keep their jobs and prove they're assets, and many have failed miserably. Peter's not one for giving second chances. 

Peter could have HR do it, it's why they exist in the first place, but he trusts Erica more, so he's having her comb through every Whittemore employee file that Boyd sends their way as someone to look at. Either the employee is non-compliant, isn't producing, or is somehow making the Whittemore office run badly. Erica takes to it with vicious glee, both because of the hell the buyout had made her life and that it's her fiancé that they're mistreating. 

Putting the fear of god into the Whittemore people, while amusing, isn't the sole reason for his trip. All he wants is to get that over with as quickly as possible so he can spend as much time as he can with Stiles. He doesn't say that to Erica, but by her smirks, he's pretty sure she can tell anyway. 

"So," Erica asks, walking into his office with a stack of designs for him to approve. "Did the boy toy like his gift?"

Peter knew that having Erica help select clothes for Stiles would be a mistake.

"Not a boy toy," Peter says. "And he did."

"Obviously he's not just a boy toy," Erica says. "You sent him items that aren't even out in stores yet. You wouldn't do that for some new conquest."

Peter refuses to look startled. He knows how observant Erica is, it's part of what makes her good at her job and a good wolf, but that doesn't mean he wants those powers of observation used on him. 

"I think I liked it better when you were afraid of me," Peter says.

"I was never afraid of you," Erica says.

"More's the pity," Peter says. "Are these the designs from Kali's team?"

"Yeah, but Deucalion says evening wear will be another week," Erica says, handing him the folders.

Peter sighs, rubbing his temples. 

"Tell him he has two days or he's getting sent to junior miss," Peter says.

Erica grins, like she can think of nothing more exciting than bossing around men twice her age. 

"With pleasure," she says. "Nice attempt at distraction, by the way."

"Don't you have work to do?" Peter asks.

"So glad that you asked," Erica says. She takes a seat across from his desk and pulls out her tablet. She presses a few buttons before turning it around and holding it out to him. "I've compiled the data on the employees from Whittemore Designs that Boyd sent over. And I got my hands on their HR files. Twenty-three accounts of sexual harassment that went unpunished. Eleven reports of anti-werewolf actions and/or comments, and twenty-six reports of racism, both of which were also ignored. And that's just what's documented."

"Hmm," Peter says. He takes the tablet and scrolls through the files. 

"And of course, many of those incidents overlap," Erica says. 

"Well, we've found the first people to go," Peter says. "I assume the Whittemore HR coordinator's information is in here as well?"

"At the bottom," Erica says. 

"Good. We'll fire him first," Peter says.

"Ten bucks says he cries," Erica says.

"That is absolutely not a bet I'm willing to make," Peter says. Erica snickers. "Is there anything else?"

"Our flight leaves tomorrow at 6:30 a.m., the hotel reservation is made, and a car will be at your house to pick you up at 4:00 a.m.," Erica says.

"Why do you always book early morning flights? Do you hate me?" Peter asks.

"Oh don't whine, you big baby," Erica says. "I figured the earlier the better so you can spend more time with the boy toy."

Peter glares, but Erica just looks back a bit smug.

"He's not a boy toy," Peter finally says.

Erica's look softens a bit into a smile.

"I know," she says. She stands, straightening her skirt. "4:00 a.m. tomorrow."

"I hate you," Peter says, well aware that she can hear the way his heart skips at the lie. "Why does half the time it feel like you're the one running my office?"

Erica just laughs and walks out. 

Erica is even less of a morning person than he is, so when they meet up at the airport, even though she looks as put-together as always, she merely grunts at him in greeting and doesn't speak in entire sentences until Peter buys her coffee. 

Peter manages to get some work done on the plane this time, going over the files of the employees they're going to fire versus have a stern conversation with. In all honesty, Peter would love to let them all go, but that's not practical and there has to be at least _some_ talent there, or else Whittemore Designs wouldn't have had any of the success they've enjoyed so far.

It's early afternoon when they arrive, just in time for an early rush hour. Peter sighs from behind the wheel of the rental car, the traffic in front of them having moved about thirty feet in the last ten minutes. Erica is tapping away on her tablet in the passenger seat.

"I set a staff meeting for tomorrow morning," Erica says. "It looks like by the time we get to the office today, most people will already have gone home for the day, so there's really no point in meeting with a handful today."

"We'll just go to the hotel, then," Peter says. "Call Boyd, go spend some time with him."

Erica grins and whips out her phone, not wasting any time. Peter would love to do the same to Stiles, but he knows the other man is working and wouldn't be able to answer. It doesn't matter, they have dinner plans tonight anyway, but the desire to hear Stiles' voice is still there. 

Peter half gives into temptation at the next stop light, pulling out his phone to shoot off a text to Stiles.

**To: Stiles  
Traffic is awful, so we aren't going into the office today.**

Stiles responds almost immediately.

_From: Stiles  
Does that mean if I suddenly come down with a heinous stomach ache and have to leave work, I might see you?_

Peter smiles at his phone, glancing up to see that traffic still isn't moving.

**To: Stiles  
You would definitely see me. Though if you give me that stomach bug, I'm afraid it's over.**

_From: Stiles  
Ha ha you're hilarious._

Traffic begins to move so Peter has to put his phone down and ignore it, no matter how much he wants to check it when it buzzes. It's not until they reach the hotel and the valet takes their car that Peter can check his texts.

_From: Stiles  
Okay, I have left work with severe stomach cramps. Finstock basically threw me out the door and said not to get him sick. I'll be at your hotel in twenty minutes._

That was ten minutes ago. Peter grins.

The hotel clerk offers them adjoining rooms, which Erica quickly shoots down, before checking them in. Erica's room is across the hall and she opens her door, literally tosses her bag inside, before turning around and leaving again.

"I'm meeting up with Boyd, see you tomorrow!"

Erica doesn't wait for him to respond, just walks back down the hall toward the elevators. Peter just shakes his head and enters his own room. He takes the time to unpack, hanging his clothes in the closet and putting his toiletries in the bathroom (he hates living out of a suitcase and tries to minimize that feeling as best he can). He also puts a package of condoms and a bottle of lube in the drawer of the bedside table. He doesn't think it's too presumptuous, merely thoughtful planning. He finishes unpacking right before Stiles texts him.

_From: Stiles  
Okay so I'm in the lobby and I am not fancy enough for this. People are side eyeing me hard._

**To: Stiles  
Ignore them. I'm in room 805.**

_From: Stiles  
I'll be right up_

Peter is grateful that Erica's already gone, because the idea of her bumping into Stiles in the hall is a bit worrisome. Peter glances around the room, making sure everything is in its place (he knows Stiles won't care, he's seen pictures of Stiles' messy apartment) and adjusts the air conditioning to his liking when Stiles knocks on the door.

Now, Peter had had a plan. He was going to take Stiles out for drinks, maybe walk around the city, before their dinner reservations. The moment he opens the door and sees Stiles standing there, flushed, grinning, and wearing one of the henleys Peter had sent him, those plans go out the window. Peter yanks him inside, Stiles squeaking in surprise. Peter closes the door and presses Stiles against it, kissing him harshly. 

Stiles immediately kisses him back, wrapping his arms around the back of Peter's neck and pulling him closer. Their bodies slot together perfectly, one of Peter's thighs nudging between Stiles', Peter caging him to the door with one hand next to his head and the other cupping his jaw.

Stiles smells like another wolf and it makes Peter's wolf growl. Peter knows it's Scott, Stiles' roommate, but he doesn't care. He wants his scent gone, and Peter's to take its place. Peter breaks the kiss, leaving Stiles panting, and drags his nose down the line of Stiles' neck. Stiles tips his head to the side, giving Peter better access, and Peter rumbles with approval. The pale line of Stiles' throat is tempting, and Peter fights the urge to mark him up. Instead he nuzzles, dragging his cheek over Stiles' skin. Stiles groans, hands tightening on Peter.

"Fuck," Stiles groans. "Peter."

"Missed you," Peter says against Stiles' soft skin as he mouths at his neck. 

"Missed you, too," Stiles gasps out when Peter bites particularly hard. Maybe he isn't trying to keep himself from marking Stiles up too hard. "God, I've thought about this so much."

"Have you?" Peter asks. He pulls back a little, just enough that he can look at Stiles. His pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen. He looks well on the way to being completely debauched, and Peter absolutely wants to see it. He nudges Stiles' nose with his own, then says, "Tell me."

"I thought about sucking you off, making you come down my throat," Stiles says, breathing a little harsher when Peter presses his thigh harder against the bulge in Stiles' jean. "But I'd rather you fuck me and come in me. I want everyone to smell I'm yours - fuck!"

Stiles' words die on his lips as Peter growls and reaches between them, squeezing Stiles' erection. 

"You don't know what you do to me," Peter growls out, fighting back the shift that wants to roll over him. 

"I think I have some idea," Stiles says and rolls his hips forward, brushing against the line of Peter's hard cock. "Are you gonna do something about it?"

Peter licks one last line up Stiles' neck before backing away. He takes a hold of Stiles' wrist and tugs him deeper into the hotel room. It's a rush to get each other out of their clothes, Peter in a hurry to touch as much of Stiles' bare skin as possible. Stiles raises an eyebrow and laughs a little when Peter unbuttons his dress shirt and drops it to the floor.

"What, Mr. Fashion, not going to hang it up?" Stiles teases, tossing his henley down on top of Peter's shirt. 

Peter reaches out and flicks Stiles' nipple, making him gasp, an undoes the button of Stiles' jeans.

"I'm much more interested in getting you bare beneath me than I am about wrinkling a shirt," Peter murmurs, pushing the jeans down Stiles' thighs, taking his boxers with them. 

Stiles is beautiful nude, all soft, pale skin, his cock flushed and hard. Stiles' arms twitch at his sides, like he's trying to keep from covering himself, and well, that just won't do. Peter drops to his knees and nips at Stiles' thigh, before taking his long cock in his mouth. Stiles shouts, hand immediately fisting in Peter's perfectly styled hair. Peter doesn't care, Stiles can grab as hard as he likes, as long as he keeps making that sweet sound.

"Peter," Stiles whines.

Peter hums around him and draws back until he's licking the tip, then sucks Stiles down again. It's honestly been a while since he's done this to someone and he's forgotten how much he enjoys it, how much he loves the little whimpers and bitten off curses as he makes someone fall apart with his mouth. Stiles' cock is heavy on his tongue, and he tastes so perfect that Peter is more than happy to stay where he is, drawing every bit of pleasure out of his lover that he can. 

But he also wants to be inside Stiles, wants to fill him up and make him scream Peter's name. He wants him wanton and ruined for anyone else but Peter. So when Stiles starts to tense and Peter can tell he's close, Peter pulls back, making Stiles whine. 

"I want you to come with me in you, sweetheart," Peter says, his voice rough. Stiles' breath catches and he nods rapidly. "Get on the bed for me."

Stiles scrambles backwards until he's lying in the middle of the bed. Peter undoes his slacks and slides them down, gratified at the way Stiles swallows hard when he sees Peter nude for the first time. Peter knows how he looks, but he still loves the look on Stiles' face as he takes in Peter's powerful body, his taut abs, his hard, thick cock nestled between strong thighs. 

Peter kneels on the bed then leans forward, crawling up Stiles' body until he's hovering above him. Stiles is looking at him wide-eyed, reeking of arousal, tinged with a bit of nervousness. Peter leans down and kisses him, coaxing his mouth open to lick inside. Stiles whimpers and clutches at Peter's arms, kissing Peter back just as hungrily. 

Peter hums when he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Stiles' for a moment before leaning over and pulling the lube and condoms out from the bedside table. Stiles grins up at him as he slicks up his fingers. That grin turns into a gasp and Peter circles a wet finger around his hole, teasing a bit before slowly sliding inside. Stiles keeps his eyes open, even as his face twists in pleasure, like he wants to see Peter just as much as Peter wants to watch him. 

One finger quickly becomes two, then three, and Stiles is panting for it, sweat glistening on his body as Peter stretches out his hole. He wants Stiles ready for him, wants to be able to slide in without hurting him, even if that takes a little extra time. Stiles fucks himself down on Peter's fingers, desperately trying to get more and more of them inside him, and Peter finally deems him ready.

Peter's wolf is snarling at him to put Stiles on his hands and knees, to fuck into him from behind and claim him. Peter wants to, but a bigger part of him wants to take Stiles just like this. He wants to see every expression that crosses Stiles' face, to see what he looks like when he falls apart. Eventually, he'll claim Stiles as the wolf wants, but this time, the human side wins out.

Stiles whines in complaint when Peter pulls his fingers from his hole, making Peter smirk. Peter picks up a condom and raises his eyebrows.

"We can use one if you want, but you said you wanted me to come inside you..." Peter says.

"Don't use one," Stiles says. "You can't get anything and I just got tested."

Peter doesn't ask twice, tossing it away. He slicks himself up quickly before positioning himself between Stiles' spread thighs. Stiles' breath hitches as Peter presses the tip against his hole, a breath that turns into a low moan when Peter slowly pushes inside, sinking deep into that wet heat. Peter pauses when he's fully seated, waiting for Stiles to adjust.

"I'm good," Stiles says breathlessly, rolling his hips, making Peter hiss. "Come on, fuck me."

Peter starts slowly because he wants to make this last, but it's hard to keep that pace when Stiles looks so delicious under him, flushed and glassy-eyed with pleasure. Stiles rolls his hips with Peter's thrusts, encouraging Peter to fuck him faster, to get more of Peter's cock inside him.

"Peter," Stiles gasps. Peter's hands are tight on Stiles' hips, Stiles grasping at Peter's wrists. 

"So good, you're so good for me, Stiles," Peter says breathlessly. Stiles keens, cock jerking at the praise and oh, that's interesting. "You're perfect, sweetheart, beautiful and delicious and mine."

Stiles moans loudly, a sound Peter is coming to love, and trails his hands up his own torso and twists at his nipples, pebbling the soft flesh. Peter groans and leans forward, pushing one of Stiles' hands away so he can draw the hard nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving and nibbling on it until it's red and swollen. 

The new angle must hit Stiles' prostate just right because his cries get louder, his hard cock rubbing between their bodies. Stiles is shaking beneath Peter, tears in his eyes as Peter fucks him harder, trying to wring every bit of pleasure from him that he can. 

"I'm close," Stiles gasps out, snaking a hand between them to stroke himself.

"Good," Peter says. "Let me see you come."

Stiles is writhing underneath Peter, chasing his pleasure, when he stills and cries out Peter's name, spilling between them, painting their bellies in white. Peter doesn't stop, fucking Stiles through his orgasm. Stiles' hole is tight around him, spasming as Stiles comes, and Peter doesn't last much longer, his pleasure building higher and higher until he's slamming inside Stiles, coming deep inside him, only a few minutes later. 

Peter doesn't pull out right away, not willing to give up his position deep inside Stiles. Instead, he gently rolls them until he's on his back and can pull Stiles' soft and pliant body onto him. Stiles sighs shakily, still a out of breath, and nuzzles at Peter's neck, something that would usually make his wolf growl, but he feels nothing but pleasure and contentment. 

Peter isn't sure how long they lie there with Stiles in his arms, Peter running a hand up and down his back. They don't doze, but they don't feel the need to speak for a while either, happy to just be in each other's presence. Peter eventually softens and slips out of Stiles, a trail of come trickling out after him. Stiles makes a small noise in his throat, but doesn't protest when Peter trails a hand between his legs, catching the escaping come and pressing it back into Stiles' soft and loose hole.

"Kinky bastard," Stiles murmurs against Peter's skin.

Peter snorts. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

"Good, I'd hate to be the only one," Stiles says.

Peter glances over to clock on the nightstand and sighs. 

"We have to get up if we want to make those dinner reservations," Peter says. "As much as I would love to keep you in my bed, we do need to eat."

"Fine," Stiles says dramatically, but he's smiling at he sits up and stretches. "Do we have time to shower?"

"Hmm," Peter hums, eyes raking down Stiles' body. His eyes linger of the pink skin on his neck where Peter's stubble had rubbed. "Not if we shower together. I can't promise not to ravish you."

"I need to at least rinse off, I'm sweaty and gross," Stiles says, then laughs at Peter's put out expression. "I'm pretty sure they'll still all be able to smell you on me. And if not, well, we can fix that later."

Stiles showers quickly and still smells a bit like Peter when he's done, much to Peter's delight. He lets Stiles pulls on his jeans, but holds out one of his own shirts, quirking an eyebrow in askance. Stiles rolls his eyes but smells delighted as he pulls it on. Peter's a bit thicker than Stiles, so the shirt is a little big, but Stiles fills out the shoulders nicely and seeing Stiles in it takes all of Peter's self control not to toss him back on the bed. By the wicked look Stiles gives him, he can tell.

They make it to the restaurant on time, barely. It's a nice Italian place, though not as swanky as where Peter had taken Stiles before. As much as they'd both enjoyed themselves, Peter had gotten the vibe that Stiles wasn't quite as comfortable as he could be in a place that fancy, so he's toning it down a bit in an effort to reach Stiles' comfort level. When they're seated, the waiter eyes the red skin on Stiles' neck which still hasn't quite calmed down from Peter's beard and teeth, and it makes something in Peter swell in triumph. 

"So, what're your big business plans while you're here?" Stiles asks over linguine. "Firing a bunch of people?"

"Yes, actually," Peter says, taking a sip of his wine. "We have a bit on an HR problem that I need to take care of."

"Big boss Peter, sexy," Stiles says. "Does anyone ever try to get out of being fired by offering you a blowjob?"

"Honestly, one person did," Peter admits. "Very early on in my company's life."

Stiles lets out a bark of a laugh. "What'd you do?"

"I called in Erica to escort her from the building. She tried to sue and say I demanded sex in return for not firing her," Peter says. "She lost, of course, and I learned to always have another person present when I let people go now."

"Wow," Stiles says. "Yeah, that makes me glad I'm not in charge of anyone."

When the waiter refills their drinks, his eyes once again linger on Stiles appreciatively, something Stiles doesn't notice but Peter definitely does. He raises an eyebrow and looks at the waiter coolly when he refills Peter's glass, making the man flush and scurry away quickly. 

"What was that about?" Stiles asks, watching the waiter all but trip over himself leaving their table. 

"I think it's rude to ogle another person's date," Peter says simply. 

"He was ogling you?" Stiles asks. 

"He was ogling _you_ ," Peter says, then laughs at Stiles' look of incredulity. "You're really not aware of how attractive you are, sweetheart."

Stiles shrugs, but his face is flushed. 

The waiter very pointedly doesn't look at either of them when he brings the check. Peter's just signing the receipt when he hears a whispered, "Is that Peter Hale? Do you think we could get a picture?" from someone across the restaurant. He sighs, making Stiles look at him in concern.

"Someone has recognized me," Peter says. "The person they're with is trying to convince them that it would be rude to interrupt our dinner to ask for a picture, but they don't seem to be listening."

Stiles very casually glances around and spots the woman arguing with her friend and starting to stand, looking in their direction with her phone out.

"Are we making a run for it?" Stiles asks.

"You wouldn't mind?" Peter asks. He's not sure why he's surprised by this, considering Stiles' mischievous streak.

"Nah, dude, let's go," Stiles says. He stands and stretches wildly, blocking Peter from the woman's view, then winks at Peter and they all but dash out the door. The hostess looks at them with wide eyes but Stiles calls over his shoulder, "Receipt's at the table, evening was lovely!" on his way out the door.

They jog around the corner, startling an old man walking his dog and scaring the hell out of a flock of pigeons before slowing to a walk, Stiles laughing delightedly. Peter chuckles and takes his hand, tugging him in for a light kiss. He tastes like the white wine they'd had with dinner. 

"You're ridiculous," Peter says and he's well aware of how fond he sounds.

"Yeah well, you like me," Stiles says, grinning. "So who's really the ridiculous one here?"

Peter laughs and kisses Stiles again, his hand cradling Stiles' jaw. 

"Mm, you're a delightful little thing," Peter says. 

Stiles grins and bumps his nose against Peter's before kissing him once more. He pulls back, fingers still tangled with Peter's, and they start off down the street back to where Peter had parked. 

Peter would love to take Stiles back to his hotel room and devour him again. He would love to hold Stiles close in sleep and wake up with him in his bed. But Peter has a very early morning tomorrow and as much as he desires Stiles to stay with him, he can't offer it. Instead, he drives Stiles back to his apartment (his neighborhood is, quite frankly, appalling, and Peter isn't just saying that because of his champagne tastes) and spends about ten minutes leaning over the center console, kissing Stiles in the front seat of the car like they're teenagers.

"How about," Peter murmurs against Stiles lips, "you pack a bag," another kiss, "and stay with me tomorrow night?"

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, and Peter can feel his grin. 

"I can't have you tonight, though believe me, I want to," Peter says. "But tomorrow? Tomorrow I'd love to have you spread out under me, to make you scream my name, and fall asleep with you next to me."

"Okay, I have to go or I'm going to jump you in a car," Stiles says, pulling away with a breathless laugh. "But yes, tomorrow. Absolutely."

"Good," Peter says.

Peter doesn't drive off until Stiles is up his front steps and cheerily waves before disappearing into the building. He gets back to the hotel later than he'd intended, but not too late. The room reeks of him and Stiles, of sex and sweat. If Peter lies in their sheets and plays with himself until he comes, well, that's his business.

Peter falls asleep easily that night and wakes up ready to work. He meets Erica in the hotel lobby at 6:00 a.m. and they head into the office. Erica is in a much better mood after spending the day with Boyd. Peter doesn't tease her for it, only because he knows he's in the same boat at the moment. They're just walking into the office when he gets a text from Stiles. Peter almost spits out his mouthful of coffee. It's a picture of Stiles lying in bed wearing nothing but Peter's shirt.

_From: Stiles  
Can't wait to see you tonight ;)_

**To: Stiles  
You're a menace**

**To: Stiles  
But me too.**

Peter turns his phone on silent, ignoring Erica and her knowing look, when they get to the large conference room. They have a staff meeting in an hour, but he'd asked the HR manager to come and meet with them first. It isn't going to be a particularly long meeting. 

There's a knock on the conference room door and Peter calls for him to come in. The HR manager is a greasy-looking man with bulging eyes that remind Peter a bit of a salamander. He's sweating and smells of nerves, but he's trying to keep his composure. Peter wonders how much of it is bravado and arrogance over stupidity. 

"Mr. Carver? Please take a seat," Erica says, motioning to the chair across from Peter's. There's a large conference table between them, but Carver still looks reluctant to sit that close to Peter. Peter's changing his assessment of his nervousness to include bravado, arrogance, stupidity, _and_ a bigoted fear of werewolves.

"Mr. Hale," Carver says. His tone is aiming for polite, but he can't hide the slight curl of his lips.

"Mr. Carver," Peter says blandly. He pulls the tablet in front of him closer and glances down. "Twenty-three accounts of sexual harassment, eleven reports of anti-werewolf actions and/or comments, and twenty-six complaints of racism. None of which have resulted in any disciplinary action or terminations."

"There wasn't substantial, uh, evidence to prove the claims," Carver says. Erica makes a face at the blip in his heartbeat. He's really sweating now. 

"Would you care to try that again?" Peter asks. "Because as far as lies go, that was quite pitiful."

"I'm not...I don't..."

"How about I finish then, shall I?" Peter says. "These reports tell me that you're a bigot at worst, and a weak, easily influenced, inefficient employee at best. And I'm leaning toward the worst."

"I'm not!" Carver says. "I have no problem with people living...alternative lifestyles."

Peter glances at Erica, who clears her throat and pulls the file in front of her closer.

"We have your online activity here," Erica says, and Carver goes pale. "You really should have read the paperwork when you were hired that internet activity on your work computer is monitored. You've been very vocal on anti-werewolf forums, active homophobic hate groups, and interestingly, plenty of gay werewolf porn."

"My personal beliefs do not bleed over into my work," Carver says, but it's a weak protest.

"If you believe that, you're a fool," Peter says. "I have room for neither fools nor bigots in my company. Clean out your desk and be gone in an hour. Security will escort you."

Carver stares, his mouth hanging open.

"I've been with this company for ten years!" Carver says.

"Ten years too long," Peter says. "We are giving you the chance to leave with dignity, and I would take it if I were you. I won't hesitate to have you dragged kicking and screaming from the building."

Carver looks like he's seriously considering it, but one look at Erica and her sharp smile, like she can think of nothing better than pulling him out by his ears, makes him deflate. A security guard waiting at the door gestures Carver to follow her, and they disappear down the hall.

"That was fun," Erica says. "I was really hoping he'd cry, though."

"We have a dozen more to let go today," Peter says. "I'm sure you'll get your wish."

Word of Carver's firing spreads quickly, and with Peter's enhanced hearing, he can hear all the whispered worries about who's next and what the meeting is going to be about. Peter tries not to be amused at the barely concealed panic, but really, this place has gotten away with so much that he can't help it.

Boyd joins them in the staff meeting. Peter sits at the head of the table with Erica and Boyd taking the seats on either side of him. The staff fills in the table by taking the further seats first, as if being farther away will keep them safer. Peter waits until everyone is seated before he starts talking.

"As I'm sure most of you have heard, Mr. Carver was let go earlier today," Peter says. There are no murmurs, just people staring up at him with wide eyes. "Not to go into too much detail, but there was frankly a startling lack of action on reported HR violations. I don't know how Whittemore ran this company before now, but I want it to be clear that discrimination in any form is unacceptable. We are welcoming of all ethnicities, orientations, genders, and supernatural statuses."

There is a bit of a murmur at that. Some people look angry, others fearful. Good, Peter does so enjoy making bigots afraid.

"No one has to reveal themselves as supernatural in any way, but you are welcome to be yourselves and come to any of us if you have any accommodations needed. Boyd will be taking Mr. Carver's place until we can hire a competent HR manager and all inquiries can be sent to him," Peter says. "I do encourage you to come to him if you have faced or are currently facing any sort of harassment or discrimination. Even if you've reported it before. We have Mr. Carvers files and have been looking over them as well, and you can be assured that we will be taking corrective action. Are there any questions?"

No one says anything for a long time. Some are seething, some are still smelling of fear, but Peter can easily see a few people that look actually hopeful. A woman near the back timidly raises her hand. By the smell of her, she's a shifter of some kind.

"What's your name?" Peter asks.

"Amy Macias," she says. Peter remembers her name from one of the sexual harassment complaints that were ignored. "What exactly do you mean by accommodations?"

"That tends to be Boyd's wheelhouse rather than mine, so I'll let him answer," Peter says.

"It could be anything," Boyd says. "We have a shifter in our LA office that is sensitive to light, so she has an office near the center of the building with no windows and a dimmer switch. There's a prayer room for our Muslim employees. Don't be afraid to ask."

Amy nods, looking like she's trying to digest this information.

"We will be meeting with employees individually throughout the rest of the day," Peter says. "We will - "

"Are you going to fire more people?" asks a man toward the back. His shoulders are raised high in a defensive position and everything about him is screaming anger.

"Yes," Peter says blunting. "Mr.?"

"Harris," the man says. "I work in footwear."

Erica makes a small noise next to him, and Peter knows she's also remembering the name from a variety of complaints against him that went nowhere. Boyd has also mentioned multiple times the man's unwillingness to listen.

"Yes, Mr. Harris," Peter says, voice dripping with derision, "we will be terminating a number of people. If you're a good employee and not a useless bag of dead weight, you will be fine."

Harris looks like he has plenty more to say to that, but wisely keeps his mouth shut.

"Are there any other questions?" Peter asks. No one says anything. "Then you may all return to work. Ms. Reyes will be coming to you collect you for an individual meeting when it is your turn."

Everyone seems relieved to leave, some all but bolting from the conference room. Peter snorts in amusement at the hissed comments of anger that leave Harris' mouth the second he's outside the room, as if he's forgotten that werewolves have exceptional hearing.

"What an unpleasant man," Peter says idly. 

"Very much so," Boyd says.

"Should we start with that one?" Erica asks.

"Sure," Peter says. "Bring him to my office in ten minutes."

Boyd and Erica both sit in for the meetings with the employees. As predicted, Harris puts up quite a fight when he's terminated. He screams discrimination, that he's being targeted. Peter calmly tells him that his designs aren't up to par with company standards and that the multiple claims of sexual harassment are not acceptable. Eventually, Peter has to have security pull Harris from the room, all the while the man is screaming about lawsuits and taking Peter for all he's worth. Peter just rolls his eyes and prepares for the next one.

They let go of eight people, and give very stern warnings to another three. Some meetings go better, though. Amy Macias reveals that she's a were, though she doesn't specify what kind, and that she'd been scared of anyone finding out and firing her over it. Peter assures her that Hale Fashion is a were-run company and will always be inclusive. When she asks, Peter tells her that there are absolutely opportunities to transfer to the LA office if she desires. She leaves a lot happier than she'd been that morning. 

The day is long and tiring, enough so that Peter completely forgets lunch until Erica disappears for a bit and comes back with croissants for her, Peter, and Boyd. They post the job listing for an HR manager that day, as well as for all the positions they'd terminated, and Boyd is already fielding emails from interested people by 3:00 p.m. 

Peter's tired, not a fan of having to deal with the human aspect of this business instead of focusing on the artist angle, but it has to be done. He's counting down the minutes until he can leave and meet Stiles for dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles is having the absolute worst day. Finstock upped their deadline on a project by a week, leaving the whole office scrambling to catch up, Greenberg tripped and dropped his lunch (hot pizza) right in Stiles' lap, and Stiles' chair collapsed underneath him, sending him toppling backward into the wall. Hence, why Stiles is hiding in the bathroom on another floor of the office building, taking a well deserved break, when Lydia calls. 

Stiles groans and debates not answering. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to Lydia, it's that he doesn't want to talk to _anyone_. He's tired and cranky and sore and his crotch smells like pizza and has a big sauce stain on it. But he also knows if he doesn't answer, she'll just keep calling him until he does. With a sigh, he hits the accept call button.

"Hey," Stiles says.

There's a pause on the line, then, _"Are you okay, Stiles?"_

Stiles snorts.

"That obvious, huh?" Stiles says. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a rough day."

_"Do I need to make anyone disappear?"_ Lydia asks.

"Nah, not that bad," Stiles says. "Well, maybe. I have three hours left and I can see it getting worse, so, put a pin in that for now."

_"Well, know that the offer is open,"_ Lydia says.

"I know, that's why you're my favorite," Stiles says. 

_"On a different note, I made reservations tonight at the Palm,"_ Lydia says.

"Uh, I can't, I'm with Peter tonight," Stiles says.

_"I know. The reservation is for Kira, Isaac, Scott, you, Peter, and me,"_ Lydia says. _"So we get a chance to meet the boyfriend."_

"...I changed my mind, you aren't my favorite anymore," Stiles says.

_"Don't be so dramatic,"_ Lydia says.

"This is...it's personal, Lydia. I don't want anything to mess it up," Stiles says.

_"And you think we will mess things up?"_ Lydia asks, and her tone is dangerous.

"I think that you and Scott are ridiculously overprotective and I don't want to deal with a bullshit shovel speech or something like that. And Isaac will just be an ass to be an ass. He's barely even my friend, I don't know why you'd invite him," Stiles says. "Kira's sweet, she's fine. I should just take Kira."

_"Not a chance in hell,"_ Lydia says. _"Reservations are at 8:30. Be there."_

"Lydia..."

_"Look Stiles. He is important to you, yes? You're my best friend and I want to meet the person who matters to you,"_ Lydia says. _"Especially after the debacle when you dated Heather."_

Stiles sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

"I'll ask him, all right?" Stiles says. "But I don't know if we already have plans for tonight."

_"Good,"_ Lydia says.

"You know, you calling used to make my day better, not worse," Stiles says.

_"Stiles,"_ Lydia says.

"I'll talk to you later," Stiles says and hangs up. 

Stiles lets out a loud sigh that echoes through the empty bathroom. He already regrets snapping at Lydia and he knows he'll have to apologize later, but after the huge and embarrassing mess that was Heather and his relationship, he would rather keep things private. But he supposes it's probably time to bite the bullet and introduce Peter to his friends. After all, he has no plans to break up with Peter any time soon.

_To: Peter  
Heeeyyyy, so...did you have any plans for us tonight?_

Peter doesn't answer right away, though Stiles hadn't expected him to, so he heads back out to his desk and attacks the mountain of work waiting for him. His phone buzzes ten minutes later. He glances around to make sure Finstock isn't looking before pulling it out of his pocket.

**From: Peter  
Besides fucking you until neither of us can move? Nothing concrete. Why?**

_To: Peter  
Lydia made reservations for us at the Palm. She's decided it's time my friends meet you. Is that okay? I can tell her no if not..._

_To: Peter  
Well, I can try to tell her no. No promises on how well that will go._

Stiles gnaws at his lip, suddenly nervous about Peter's answer. What if Peter doesn't _want_ to meet Stiles' friends? Peter's private, way more private than Stiles, and has a bit of a reputation as a playboy. What if meeting Stiles' friends is a little too much? But he's said he wants a relationship with Stiles, not just a long distance booty call. Before Stiles can wind himself up with too much anxiety, Peter answers.

**From: Peter  
That's more than okay. I'd like to meet your friends.**

_To: Peter  
Really?_

**From: Peter  
Of course, sweetheart.**

Stiles feels a lot lighter at that.

_To: Peter  
I have to stop home first. Pizza met my lap and my pants are kind of trashed. And the clothes I packed aren't nice enough for the Palm anyway._

**From Peter:  
Don't bother, I have dress pants here that will fit you.**

_To: Peter  
We aren't the same size, Peter_

**From: Peter  
No, we aren't.**

_To: Peter  
Which means either they'll be awkwardly baggy on me, or you just so happen to have clothes with you that would fit me. _

**From: Peter  
It's such a coincidence, isn't it?**

Stiles snorts. 

_To: Peter  
Sure_

Stiles actually has to focus on work if he wants to leave on time, so he tells Peter he'll meet him at his hotel later, and sets his phone aside. 

When he's finally off, Stiles takes a cab to Peter's hotel. Normally he doesn't bother, it's cheaper to ride the subway or a bus, but he's had a shitty day and his crotch still smells like pizza and he doesn't want to deal with it. So, cab it is. 

Peter meets him in the lobby and Stiles immediately collapses into him, whining as Peter wraps his arms around him. He makes an effort to not touch Peter with the front of his pizza jeans, but Peter tugs him in anyway, nuzzling at his temple. Peter only pulls back when they're starting to attract stares.

"Come on, lets get you changed," Peter says. "Hard day?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, slumping against the wall of the elevator. "Just one thing after another. You?"

"Lots of firing, lots of temper tantrums," Peter says with a shrug. "It was fine, there were just many other things I'd rather have been doing."

"Am I one of those things?" Stiles asks with an exaggerated wink.

"You're always one of those," Peter says. "Though to be honest, the idea of you being there has its appeals."

"Yeah? Lots of office sex? Under the desk blow jobs?" Stiles asks. He tries for a joking tone, but he's pretty sure Peter can hear how the idea makes his heart pound.

"I definitely wouldn't say no to fucking you over my desk," Peter purrs. 

"I don't suppose we have time for a quickie before dinner?" Stiles asks. The elevator stops on their floor and Peter lets him walk out first.

"Regrettably, not if we don't want to be late," Peter says. "And while normally I wouldn't care, being late to meeting your friends for the first time seems like a bad precedent to set."

"Yeah, I guess," Stiles says. "Damn, being a responsible adult and all."

"Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time after," Peter says.

"I mean, kind of?" Stiles says. "If reservations are for 8:30, we probably won't be back until at least 10:00."

"Plenty of time," Peter says, kissing his temple before letting him into the room.

The dress pants Peter ends up handing to him are dark grey and probably tighter than what Stiles would have chosen by himself, but they're soft and comfortable and he has to admit, they make his ass look fantastic. His work shirt, basic and white, would be fine for dinner, but Peter hands him another shirt as well, this time a black button up. 

"I'm still not your Barbie," Stiles says as he pulls on the shirt. If he moves a little slower than usual to enjoy the way Peter's eyes linger on his torso, well, that's his own business.

"I like doting on you, is that so hard to believe?" Peter asks.

"And while that's appreciated, don't feel like you have to," Stiles says, wrapping his arms around Peter's waist. "If the only thing you ever gave me was a beefy nacho griller from Taco Bell, that would be more than enough."

Peter snorts, but tugs Stiles closer, brushing their cheeks together. 

"Come on, darling. We have dinner reservations," Peter says.

Stiles groans, but lets Peter tug him out the door.

They make it to the Palm ten minutes early, but Lydia is of course already there, standing in the restaurant's foyer. Stiles sighs as he sees her. Peter slips his hand into Stiles', squeezing gently, and Stiles feels a bit of his nerves abating. Lydia has a very pleasantly neutral look on her face, the one she wears when she's trying to mask how she really feels. 

"Lydia," Stiles says when they get close enough. "This is Peter. Peter, this is Lydia."

Peter squeezes Stiles' hand briefly before letting go to shake Lydia's.

"It's a pleasure," Peter says.

"I can see that," Lydia says with a smirk, motioning to the hickey Stiles is trying to hide with the collar of his shirt.

Stiles blushes and groans, but Peter just laughs and kisses his cheek.

"It's a very tempting canvas," Peter says.

Before Peter can say anything to make Stiles blush further, the restaurant door opens in come Scott and Kira. Kira, sweet as always, gives Stiles a tight hug before introducing herself to Peter. Stiles is pretty sure Peter is charmed, but then again it's hard not to be when faced with Kira's bubbly personality. Scott stands back, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"Scott? What's up?" Stiles asks.

"It's me," Peter says. "His wolf isn't happy with the scent of foreign wolf, especially all over his best friend."

Stiles is pretty sure he's the only one who can hear the small bit of smugness in Peter's voice, but Lydia's looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Scott blinks and looks sheepish, holding his hand out.

"Sorry," Scott says. "I'm not usually like that."

"It's natural," Peter says.

The hostess seats them and promises to direct Isaac to their table when he arrives. There's idle chatter after they order drinks. Scott talks about what he was doing at work that day, Lydia gives them an update on Jackson (they're on again, because as smart as Lydia is, she never seems to learn when it comes to Jackson), and Stiles tells them about his shitty day. 

Isaac appears late, as usual, right after they order appetizers. Stiles introduces him to Peter, who shakes his hand. Isaac nods and frowns a little, making Stiles pause. Yeah, Isaac can be a dick, but Stiles expected him to at least try to be nice to Peter, especially since he is someone that makes Stiles happy. Stiles opens his mouth to ask Isaac what his problem is, when Isaac speaks

"My scarf is not four seasons old!" Isaac blurts out.

Peter blinks, then smiles like he remembers the conversation from months ago when he first met Stiles.

"Well, the one you're wearing right now isn't," Peter says. "But it is a Prada knockoff."

"I've offered to take him shopping but he doesn't take me up on it," Lydia says. 

"That's a shame," Peter says.

Dinner isn't nearly as awful as Stiles thinks it'll be. Lydia quizzes Peter for a while, but eventually either gets bored or sees the daggers Stiles is glaring at her. Scott keeps sending them slightly constipated looks, which doesn't really bode well, but he doesn't say anything, so that keeps the tension down. Stiles is sure Peter knows, though. Peter is one of the most observant people Stiles has ever met and he's bound to notice Scott looking more than a little uncomfortable at some points throughout the night. It makes Stiles a little jittery at times, but before he can start bouncing his leg too hard or fiddling with the silverware, Peter will rest a hand on his thigh, or tangle his fingers with Stiles', and Stiles will take a deep breath and relax. 

Stiles is absolutely not surprised that Peter likes Kira, mostly because he doesn't think it's possible for someone _not_ to like Kira. She shows him some of the work she's done as a makeup artist and Stiles can tell he's impressed. He tries not to melt when Peter tells her he'll get her the contact information for a few people he knows in the industry so she can hopefully stop having to do it freelance.

So overall, not awful. But by the time dessert comes, Stiles is ready to be gone. It's only been a little over an hour but it has been a long ass day and all Stiles really wants to do is get fucked six ways to Sunday then curl up and sleep. Peter definitely seems to understand and doesn't fight at all when as soon as they pay, he grabs Peter's hand and all but yanks him out of his seat.

"Okay this was fun, but we have things to do, see you later, bye," Stiles says and practically drags Peter from the restaurant. 

It's late enough that there isn't too much traffic (which is relative in New York) on the way back to the hotel. They manage to keep their hands to themselves in the car, the hotel lobby, and in the elevator, but as soon as they're inside the hotel room, Stiles is kissing Peter, tugging at his clothes impatiently. 

"Someone's in a hurry," Peter says against his lips, but he's stripping Stiles just as fast.

"I've been thinking about this all day," Stiles says. "Giant, cockblocking friends."

Peter laughs and damn it, Stiles really likes that sound. 

They're both too on edge, too ready for anything slow and sweet. Stiles drops to all fours and presents his ass to Peter, smirking when he growls. Peter opens Stiles up quickly, working up to three fingers before sliding in with a groan.

They set a fast, punishing rhythm. The room is full of the sounds of skin on skin, of moans and grunts and gasps of each other's name. Peter hunches over Stiles, nipping at his neck and Stiles throws his head to the side, giving Peter full access to his throat. Peter comes like that, buried in Stiles with his teeth set against his jugular. Stiles follows only a few moments later, his hand moving quickly over his cock. 

When Peter pulls out, Stiles grumbles about ruining the afterglow, which just makes Peter chuckle. They give themselves a perfunctory wipe down before Stiles is rolling into Peter's side, tangling their legs together and resting his head on Peter's shoulder.

"We should get up and brush our teeth," Peter says, but he wraps his arms around Stiles, fingers tracing random patterns over his skin. 

"We will," Stiles says. "In a minute."

Of course, they never get around to it. Stiles dozes off only a few minutes later, snuggled against Peter's chest.

Stiles wakes up to the obnoxious blaring of Peter's alarm and groans, burying his face in the pillow. Peter's a long line of heat behind him, his arm thrown over Stiles' waist. He takes a moment to nuzzle the back of Stiles' neck and place a brief kiss there before rolling over to turn off the alarm.

"Don't wanna," Stiles grumbles into his pillow. 

"Neither do I," Peter says. "But we actually do have to go to work."

Stiles groans, but sits up. Peter eyes his bedhead and Stiles flips him off. 

"Next time I wake up with you, I want to be able to enjoy it," Stiles says.

Peter smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"We'll have plenty of opportunities," Peter promises.

"We better," Stiles says. "Can I at least sleep until you're out of the shower?"

"Nope, you're taking the first shower," Peter says. 

"Bastard," Stiles mumbles.

Neither Stiles nor Peter are morning people, but Peter handles it with significantly more grace and politeness than Stiles does. When they're both ready, Peter looks significantly more presentable than Stiles does, but Stiles figures he always will, so it's whatever. 

"I'll go pull the car around front, you come down in five minutes," Peter says, pressing a kiss to Stiles' lips.

"Too embarrassed to be seen with me?" Stiles jokes.

Peter rolls his eyes.

"I like privacy and I would prefer the paparazzi not see me leaving a hotel room with you," Peter says.

"Nah, I get it," Stiles says with a shrug. Peter frowns slightly, but kisses him again.

"Five minutes," Peter repeats.

Stiles is pretty sure no one in the lobby looks at him twice when he walks down, but Peter's been in the spotlight for a long time and Stiles trusts his judgement. 

When Peter drops him off at work, it's with a kiss and a promise to talk to him later. He has dinner plans with a business partner that night, so Stiles won't see him until the next day, and the way Peter kisses him, he wants Stiles to remember him.

Stiles doesn't know if it's just cheeriness from starting his morning with Peter, but Stiles' day is drastically better than the day before. Finstock isn't on their asses as much and Greenberg stays the hell away from Stiles. It's good, Stiles is in a good mood, and he actually enjoys work.

Or course, it has to go ass up when he gets home. 

Stiles unlocks the door to the sight of Scott pacing around their living room. He opens his mouth to say hi but before he can get the words out, Scott turns to face him and blurts out, "I don't like Peter."

Stiles blinks at him. Neither of them move for a few seconds, until Stiles closes the door behind him. Scott's biting his lip, like he regrets his outburst, but he doesn't take it back.

"Okay..." Stiles says slowly. "Because?"

"He's a lot older than you," Scott says.

"So?" Stiles says.

"He's a werewolf!"

Stiles looks at him incredulously. 

"So are you!" Stiles says. 

"Okay...well, yeah..." Scott says. "But that just means I know personally just how dangerous werewolves can be!"

Stiles, for one of the first times in his life, has no idea what to say. Scott's been a werewolf for what, five years now? And yeah, sure it'd been hard to get used to, but Stiles had honestly thought that Scott had accepted it.

"Scott, anything can be dangerous. Humans are dangerous, cars are dangerous, hell, undercooked food is dangerous," Stiles says. "You dated a _hunter_ and she was more dangerous than 90% of people I've ever met."

"Werewolves lose control and kill," Scott says.

"Do you? Or Isaac?" Stiles asks. Scott falters. "Scott, you're just repeating bullshit propaganda that came out sixty years ago."

"That doesn't mean it isn't true!" Scott says.

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and takes deep breaths, trying not to lose his shit on Scott. For Scott, the world is very black and white. There's day and night, no dusk or dawn. An out of control werewolf bit Scott; therefore, all werewolves are bad. 

"Scott, I say this with all the love in my heart. Buddy, you need to see a therapist," Stiles says. "There are counselors that specialize in the supernatural and can help with the whole werewolf acceptance thing."

"I don't need that!"

"Yes, you do! You're not in tune with your inner fluffy wolf and you're willing to believe anti-werewolf lies because you hate that part of yourself," Stiles says. "I've been living with you for five years and I'm still alive."

"I almost killed you at first!" Scott says.

"Yeah, because you didn't know what you were doing! Then you learned control and you've been fine, no maiming," Stiles says. 

"This isn't about me," Scott says, trying desperately to redirect the conversation. "Peter is dangerous and I really think you should keep your distance."

"I'm not going to, and you should know me well enough to know that the more you try to push crap like that, the more I'm going to ignore you," Stiles says coldly. "Just out of curiosity, is it just werewolves you hate? Or is it all supernatural? What about Lydia for being a banshee, is she an evil harbinger of death? What about Kira, is she too dangerous for being a kitsune?"

Scott pauses and looks deeply uncomfortable. He opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out, and he closes it again. 

"Think on that therapy," Stiles says. 

Scott glares and Stiles expects more shouting, but then Scott turns on his heel and walks out of the apartment, slamming the front door behind him. Stiles sighs and runs a hand over his face, his good mood completely gone. What he really wants to do is call Peter, but it's probably in bad taste to call the man you're dating to complain about how your best friend hates him. He's saved from having to make the choice when his phones rings, Lydia's name flashing from the caller ID.

"Do you hate Peter, too?" Stiles asks in lieu of hello.

There's a pause on the line, then, _"Who hates Peter?"_

"Scott," Stiles says. "And I notice that's not a no."

_"Of course I don't hate Peter, he makes you happy,"_ Lydia says and fuck, Stiles really loves Lydia. _"Why does Scott hate Peter?"_

"Because he's a werewolf."

_"...Scott's a werewolf."_

"I'm aware."

Lydia lets out a long breath.

_"Well that's absolutely ridiculous,"_ Lydia says. 

"Yep," Stiles says. "So, that's my night. How's yours?"

_"Well, better than yours,"_ Lydia says. _"What are you going to do about Scott?"_

"Dude, I don't even know," Stiles says, running a hand over his face. "I suggested seeing a supernatural therapist to work out his werewolf issues, but he wasn't a fan of that. I might make a list of names and leave it out for him or something, I don't know."

_"You're not going to do anything stupid like sabotage your relationship with Peter to appease Scott, are you?"_ Lydia asks.

"No," Stiles says immediately. "No, I'm not. I like Peter, I like where this is going. I'm not going to fuck it up because of Scott."

_"Good, I'm glad you're not being an idiot."_

"You really do wonders for a guy's ego."

Stiles and Lydia talk for the next couple of hours and when he gets off the phone, Stiles still doesn't feel great, but he feels better. Lydia had given him the contact information for Marin Morrell, a woman she'd seen about coming to terms with the whole banshee thing. 

When he's about to go to sleep and Scott still isn't home, Stiles texts Kira and gets an affirmative that Scott is with her. Stiles leaves out Morrell's contact information for Scott before going to bed.

\---

The rest of Peter's week in New York flies by, and sooner than he'd like, he's on a plane back to Los Angeles. Erica hadn't been happy to say goodbye to Boyd, but until they fill the HR spot and have someone running the office that Peter trusts, Boyd will be there. Peter honestly does feel bad, which is something that doesn't happen to him often. He figures if he's missing Stiles this much and they've only been together for a few months, he can't imagine how unhappy Erica is to be away from her fiance. 

Back in LA, his office has been running seamlessly in his absence, as he'd expected. Deucalion has stopped trying to push his boundaries, which is lucky because Peter hadn't been kidding about demoting him, the Alpha collection scheduled to be showcased at fashion week is almost complete, and Stiles consistently is sending him the most ridiculous and raunchy texts he can think of. All in all, Peter is quite satisfied. 

Which is of course when Derek ruins it. Well, he supposes blaming Derek is a bit unfair, he's only in Peter's office on Talia's orders, most likely because Cora's unavailable and Derek is the second least likely person Peter would kick out. When Peter comes back from lunch, Derek is sitting in his office, looking uncomfortable. Peter glares at Erica, who's sitting at her desk eating a cup of yogurt. She just shrugs.

"Some assistant you are," Peter grumbles.

"I'm on my lunch break," Erica says.

Peter rolls his eyes and walks into his office, closing the door behind him. 

"Derek," Peter says. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mom sent me," Derek says. "She's been trying to call you for a week."

"I know. I've been ignoring her for a week," Peter says.

Derek looks extremely uncomfortable to be put in the middle of his mother and his favorite uncle, but it's not like Peter's the one who put him there.

"She wants to know if you're coming to the reunion next weekend," Derek says.

"Well, as my alpha, she ordered me to. So I don't have much choice in it, do I?" Peter asks.

Derek gives him a flat look.

"Right, because that's ever stopped you before," Derek says. "Look, she told me not to leave without getting an answer. It's not like I'm here pestering you on purpose."

"Fine," Peter says. "I'll call her and tell her I'll be there."

"Good," Derek says, but he doesn't move. He gnaws on his lip a bit, like he wants to say something but isn't sure if he should and that, well, that's interesting. It's not something Talia specifically ordered Derek not to say, otherwise Peter knows his nephew wouldn't be agonizing over it, but it's also probably something Talia doesn't want Peter to hear. Peter knows Derek, knows that if he pushes too much, Derek will just clam up. 

"Mom knows you're seeing someone," Derek finally says.

Peter's eyebrows raise at that. He and Stiles have been very careful about not being spotted by paparazzi, about not putting pictures of themselves on Facebook or Instagram or whatever. Peter has kept Stiles to himself mostly because he doesn't want the damn media prying into his life, but partly because he doesn't want his damn alpha prying into his life, either.

"How?" Peter asks.

"I don't know," Derek says. "She doesn't know who, but I overheard her saying she wants to try introducing you to women from other packs again and is worried whoever you're dating will be an obstacle."

Peter sighs and lets his eyes close. For years, Talia with her damn meddling has been a pain in his ass. Their pack has old traditions, but they've progressed with the times. They no longer give animal sacrifices to the moon or dance naked in the woods or anything like that. Betas are allowed to go to school and live outside the territory. 

They also no longer force pack members into arranged marriages, but Talia still will gently prod her betas in the general direction of inter-pack romances if she thinks it'll help strengthen an alliance between packs. Talia has been not-so-subtly trying to set Peter up for years. Peter has absolutely no qualms about shutting that down in increasingly embarrassing (for Talia) ways. But every couple of years she either forgets or just gets the notion in her head again and makes another effort.

"Do you know who?" Peter asks, eyes still closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looks up, Derek just shrugs.

"I think some of the Meade Pack from Michigan will be visiting a few days before the reunion but I'm not sure if that's who she has in mind," Derek says. 

Peter's lip curls and Derek shrugs again. Peter can't stand the Meade pack. Despite having a rather garbage reputation and being well-known for not having terribly good control, they are an old family and old money with a large territory and sphere of influence, which makes plenty of packs want to get on their good side. Personally, with the Hale family's resources and reputation, Peter's never seen reason to bother with them, but his parents and Talia had always felt differently. Not that their opinions had ever particularly mattered to him.

Peter tries very hard not to shoot the messenger. He takes a deep breath and thanks Derek before shooing him out of the office, telling him he has work to do. Irritation bubbles through him throughout the day, no matter how much he tries to ignore it. By the end of the work day, he has an idea, but he's not sure how feasible it is. He calls Stiles.

_"Hey,"_ Stiles says, voice warm. Peter can't help but smile.

"Hello, Stiles," Peter says. "I have a proposition for you."

_"Oh? Lay it on me."_

"How do you feel about irritating an alpha werewolf?" Peter asks.

There's a pause, then Stiles says, _"Well historically, it's not the smartest thing to do. More context?"_

"I have a family reunion next weekend. My sister likes to call the pack back from wherever they're living for a big meetup once a year. She also has the tendency to try to set me up in an attempt to make me 'settle down' or some nonsense like that," Peter says.

_"Okay..._

"I'm sure it would annoy her to no end if I brought someone I'm seeing and put an end to that train of thought," Peter says. "I'd love to fly you out for a long weekend anyway, this just would be a little bonus."

Stiles is quiet for a moment.

_"As much as I love irritating people who deserve it, and believe me, I really do, I'd rather meet your family because you_ want _me to meet them, not as a way to get back at your sister,"_ Stiles says.

Peter curses himself.

"Of course I want you to meet them," Peter says. "Laura and Cora will probably love you. Derek, well, he's hard to read at times but under the serial killer expression he's mostly a puppy. I'm positive they will love you, and I would want you to meet them anyway. Annoying Talia is just a perk. I shouldn't have phrased it that way."

_"Are you sure?"_ Stiles asks. Peter would accuse him of just needing his ego stroked, but he's fairly certain that Stiles genuinely doesn't know that Peter's completely gone on him.

"I'm sure," Peter says. "You matter to me, Stiles. I want you to meet the others who matter to me, too."

_"Okay,"_ Stiles says, sounding much more enthusiastic. _"Yeah, I'd really like that. Uh, since we'll be in Beacon Hills anyway, would you want to stop by my dad's? Do the whole meet the family in one gauntlet weekend?"_

"I'd love to," Peter says. "Does Thursday through Sunday work?"

_"I'll have to clear it with Finstock but I've been working a ridiculous amount of overtime lately, so it should be fine,"_ Stiles says.

"Excellent," Peter says. "Now that that's out of the way, tell me about your day."

Peter and Stiles talk for about an hour until Stiles realizes he's burning his dinner and has to go. As much as Peter would love to keep talking to him, he needs to contact Talia anyway. Her phone rings for a long time (she lets it ring to make people wait, it makes her feel more important) before she finally answers.

_"Hello, Peter. Did Derek make it to you today?"_ Talia says.

"Yes, your messenger did his due diligence," Peter says. "I'm calling to RSVP for this weekend. We'll be happy to attend."

_"Wonderful, I'll send you an itinerary of...did you say 'we'?"_

"I did," Peter says. He's having so much fun, he doesn't care that it's juvenile. 

_"And what exactly do you mean by 'we'?"_ Talia asks.

"My boyfriend and I," Peter says. "Well, 'boyfriend' has such a childish sound, doesn't it? Partner sounds better. My partner and I will be there."

_"And who exactly is this partner?"_ Talia asks.

"You won't have heard of him," Peter says. Well, now that he thinks of it, that might not entirely be true, not if she's had a conversation with the sheriff. "He isn't someone in the spotlight."

_"What's his name?"_

"I'd prefer to keep that to myself until we arrive," Peter says.

_"What? Why?"_ Talia asks.

"Because I know how you are and I don't need you harassing him," Peter says.

_"If someone is coming into my territory, I need to know who they are,"_ Talia says.

It's a good argument. Well, it would be, if Peter hadn't run the pack's security for years. 

"Really?" Peter says, sounding entirely too amused. "You think that I, of all people, wouldn't verify someone isn't a security risk?"

Peter can actually hear Talia grinding her teeth on her end of the line.

_"Peter, I'm serious - "_

"Don't worry about sending someone to the airport, we'll rent a car," Peter says. "I have to go, I have a meeting starting soon. See you this weekend."

Talia is still talking when Peter hangs up, something about how it's almost 5:00 p.m. and no one has meetings that late, and that's quite satisfying on its own.

When Stiles calls the next day and says Finstock cleared his time off, Peter immediately sends him flight details. Stiles will fly into LAX and meet Peter, and they'll fly up to San Francisco and drive the rest of the way to Beacon Hills. Peter had planned a nice quiet drive for them, maybe stop for lunch on the way before dealing with the Hale pack, but Cora throws a bit of a wrench into that plan. 

"So, my niece wants to drive with us from San Francisco," Peter says the night before Stiles is flying to LA. "She's been backpacking in South America and will be arriving close to when we do."

_"Okay?"_ Stiles says. _"You don't exactly sound happy about that."_

"It's fine with me. I wanted to make sure you were okay with being in a car with someone you don't know for over an hour," Peter says.

_"While that's adorably sweet of you, that's totally not the reason,"_ Stiles says.

Peter sighs dramatically.

"Fine, I wanted to indulge in the phenomenon known as road head," Peter says.

Stiles bursts out laughing.

_"Oh my god! Oh my god I can't believe you said that,"_ Stiles says. _"Well if it helps, that wasn't going to happen even if your niece weren't in the car. As much as I like your dick, I'm not willing to die for it."_

"I wouldn't let us crash," Peter says.

_"I might have considered sketchy side-of-the-road sex, but that's something I don't need her seeing,"_ Stiles says.

"Well, there's always the ride back to the airport," Peter says.

_"You're ridiculous."_

Stiles' flight lands at 7:00 a.m. and he is not happy about it. Peter's waiting at the gate for him and Stiles glares before begrudgingly kissing him hello.

"Do you have any idea how early I had to get up?" Stiles asks.

"You can sleep on the plane," Peter says.

Stiles grumbles, but he still wraps himself up in Peter's arms. Peter adores sleepy Stiles. So cuddly and grumpy and it shouldn't be endearing, but apparently anything about Stiles just does it for him.

The flight from LA to San Francisco is short, but Stiles manages to nod off for a bit so he's a little less grumpy when they land and pick up their baggage. Stiles is just lugging his suitcase off the baggage claim belt when someone crashes into Peter from behind, wrapping their arms around him. He's about to throw them off, until the familiar scent of Cora washes over him.

"You're playing with fire there," Peter says, turning around and tugging her into a proper hug.

"I figured you wouldn't assault someone in the middle of the airport," Cora says.

"That's a very weak assumption," Peter says. "Cora, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is Cora. My favorite niece, though don't tell Laura that."

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're real," Cora says, shaking Stiles' hand. "This is going to be so good."

"Uh, thanks?" Stiles says.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Uncle Peter has someone that makes him happy, but I'm so looking forward to Mom's reaction," Cora says. "There are bets on whether Peter's actually bringing someone home or if he just said that to make her mad. He's only ever brought one person to meet the family before and that was _years_ ago."

"Aw, am I special?" Stiles asks, fluttering his eyes at Peter.

"All right, that's quite enough out of both of you," Peter says. "Do you have your bags?"

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"Then let's get a move on. We'd hate to keep our illustrious alpha waiting," Peter says.

Stiles tries to get Cora to take the front seat so she can catch up with her uncle, but she insists on sitting in the back, saying she's planing on sleeping anyway. That doesn't quite end up happening. Peter hadn't been lying when he said he thought Cora would like Stiles, he just hadn't anticipated quite how much that would be true. 

Stiles pries entirely too much embarrassing information out of Cora. Peter hadn't even been aware that she knows half of the stories she tells (like the one of him falling in the lake during his disastrous attempt at fishing). Stiles listens to all of them with glee, saying he likes knowing that Peter isn't stupidly perfect all the time. Peter rolls his eyes at that, but his hand stays where it is, resting on Stiles' thigh.

Peter gets more and more tense the closer they get to Beacon Hills. He doesn't think it's noticeable, but Stiles curls his fingers around Peter's and squeezes tightly, looking at him in askance. Peter smiles, but he knows it's brittle.

"My sister and I don't always see eye-to-eye," Peter says. "I'm hoping she isn't cruel to you simply to get to me. I don't think she will be, but still."

Cora doesn't say anything in defense of her mother, but Peter hadn't expected her to. She's been on the receiving end of one too many of Talia's disapproving looks to have any illusions of what her mother is like.

"It'll be fine," Stiles says. "Believe me, I've spent my whole dealing with people who don't like me, your sister isn't going to faze me."

Peter frowns.

"I like how you think the fact that other people treat you badly is comforting to me," he says.

"My point is that I guarantee I've dealt with people worse than you sister," Stiles says.

Peter doesn't know about that, but he doesn't say anything.

"If it comes down to it, I'll sneak off with Stiles and we'll drink on the roof while you yell at Mom, sound good?" Cora says.

"I think she's my favorite of your nieces, too," Stiles says.

Cora grins.

Talia isn't waiting out front when they arrive, but Mama and Pop Hale are. They're sitting on the porch swing, holding hands and murmuring softly. Stiles coos at how cute they are. 

"Don't let them trick you," Cora says. "They're crafty little monsters."

"I believe you. Old people have to be crafty to have lived so long. My grandma used to train pigeons to shit on the houses of neighbors she didn't like," Stiles says. Peter and Cora stare at him. "What? I'm just saying!"

Peter shakes his head with a huff of laughter and gets out of the car. Mama and Pop are heading towards them, smiling broadly.

"Petey!" Mama Hale says, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Petey?" he hears Stiles whisper to Cora.

"You look so good! Big and strong!" Mama Hale says. 

Peter hugs his dad next as Mama moves on to Cora.

"And who is this?" Mama asks. "Petey, you aren't going to introduce us to your beau?"

"Sorry, this is Stiles. Stiles, my mother and father, Joanna and Dominic Hale," Peter says.

"Please, call me Mama, no one has called me Joanna since I gave birth to Talia," Mama says. "And if you call him Dominic, he'll probably laugh himself into a heart attack, so it's probably best you stick with Pop for him."

"It's nice to meet you both," Stiles says. He tries to shake her hand, but Mama pulls him in for a hug, kissing both of his cheeks. Stiles barely has time to reorient himself before Pop is hugging him, too.

"We're happy to meet anyone that Peter cares enough about to bring home," Pop says.

"Well, I hope I live up to the hype," Stiles says. He sounds nervous. Peter takes his hand and presses a kiss to his temple.

"You more than do, sweetheart," Peter says.

Cora coos behind them and his parents look fond. Part of Peter wants to bristle, but he knows they want to see him happy and aren't doing it to mock him. Plus, he has plenty of time to be rude when he sees Talia.

Peter and Stiles are staying in Peter's old bedroom. It's been painted since he moved out and any trophies and posters moved or thrown out, but it still smells like his room growing up. Stiles is completely disappointed that it isn't littered with baby pictures, though Peter is pretty sure Talia could conjure up a photo album if she really wants him to be miserable. As much as Peter would love to stay up in his room, nap with Stiles, and avoid the rest of the pack, he knows that's both A. not practical, and B. too cowardly on his part. He refuses to hide in his room from his older sister. 

"How soundproof are these walls?" Stiles asks before they head downstairs.

"Reasonably soundproof. If someone were to scream for help, you'd hear them, but privacy is important so you wouldn't overhear a conversation from the next room over or anything," Peter says. "Why?"

"Well, I figure if you make it through the next few hours without eviscerating anyone, verbally or otherwise, we can take a break before dinner and come up here so I can ride you until you're seeing stars," Stiles says.

"You know they would be able to smell it on us when we came back down right?" Peter asks.

"And?" Stiles asks.

Peter grins and presses Stiles up against the door. 

"It's dangerous to tease a wolf, Stiles," Peter murmurs against his lips.

"It's a good thing you like me then," Stiles says. He presses quick kiss to Peter's lips then slides to the side, opening the door. "Come on, fearless wolfman, family awaits."

It's not nearly as bad has Peter had expected, mostly because Talia is too busy trying to wrangle pack and family members to pay much attention to him and Stiles. Peter's parents love Stiles. Laura loves Stiles. Peter's cousins' kids love Stiles, though they love anyone new so that's not too much of a shock. Amanda, Peter's first cousin one removed, convinces Stiles to color with her and they spend a good half hour poring over her dinosaur coloring book.

"Did you know that the tyrannosaurs rex lived in the Mesozoic era?" Amanda asks. "In the late Cretaceous Period."

"I didn't know that," Stiles says. 

"And the stegosaurus was in the late Jurassic Period. That's why Jurassic Park makes no sense. All these dinosaurs would have lived at different times and putting them together would be a big mess," Amanda says matter-of-factly. "Mrs. Johnson didn't like when I pointed that out in class."

"How old are you again?" Stiles asks.

"I'm eight-and-a-half," Amanda says.

"I think you're the smartest eight-and-a-half-year-old I've ever met," Stiles says. 

Amanda puffs up her chest proudly.

The backyard is getting steadily more crowded, pack and family members trickling in every ten minutes or so. A couple of distant relatives (if Peter's being honest, he has no idea how they're related, just that they are) make the usual hints about needing a job and subtly trying to get him to offer them a position high up in his company. Peter acts completely oblivious as the what they mean, forcing them to either spell it out or go away. Derek and Laura have jobs with him because they're good at what they do and he actually likes them. He can't say that for his mom's second cousin's niece, or whatever the hell she is.

There are snacks out but nothing formal since there's a large catered dinner later on, so people are milling about with deviled eggs and mini quiches. Peter wishes they'd bring out the wolfsbane-laced wine instead of saving it for later, because some of the pack are close to getting on his last nerves.

It's close to 4:00 p.m. when Talia finally emerges from the house. Peter steels himself to introduce her to Stiles, then notices the woman walking next to her. A woman that is not in the Hale pack. Peter's eyes narrow as the two of them make their way to Peter and Stiles. The look on Talia's face in completely innocent, and Peter knows it's bullshit. It's the same look she'd had growing up when she would steal cookies and blame Peter.

"Peter, I'm glad you made it!" Talia says. She hugs him lightly and Peter fights to urge to pull away from her.

"Lovely to be here," Peter says dully. Stiles coughs a bit next to him. Talia either doesn't catch the lie or isn't that interested in his response.

"Peter, you remember Roxanne from the Meade pack, don't you?" Talia asks. 

"No," Peter says. "Though I am confused why she's here." He doesn't care that he's being rude. He can tell by the smug look that Roxanne knows exactly what Talia is doing.

"Her flight doesn't leave until tomorrow and I thought it would be nice for her to join us for dinner," Talia says.

"Of course, it's quite common to invite a member of another pack to our pack reunion, how silly of me," Peter says.

Talia's smile is brittle as she turns her attention to Stiles. Peter has to fight the urge to step in front of him as if he could shield him from Talia's view. He doesn't like the way her lip curls, but Stiles doesn't tense up or react at all other than keep up his lazy smile.

"And this must be...I'm so sorry, Peter hasn't said much about you," Talia says. 

It's quite a rude statement wrapped up in an overly polite tone and if Stiles hadn't been warned about Talia, Peter's sure he'd be offended. But as it is, Stiles is more than ready for his sister.

"It's Stiles," Stiles says. "Though you might recognize me by my last name. Stilinski."

Talia's eyes widen minutely and Peter knows exactly what she's thinking; how much of the pack's legal dirty laundry does the son of the sheriff know? 

"Stilinski as in Sheriff Stilinski?" Talia asks.

"Yep," Stiles says cheerfully. 

The expressions warring on Talia's face are beautiful to Peter. On the one hand, it's always smart to have an in with local law enforcement and Stiles represents that beautifully. On the other, she doesn't want to admit defeat with her years-long battle of getting Peter to settle down with a nice wolf and have some babies. 

Roxanne clears her throat loudly, reminding Talia that she's there. She's eyeing Stiles with obvious distaste, no doubt hating the fact that in her eyes, he's standing in the way of her marrying into a very prominent pack (Peter wants to tell her that he wouldn't want her either way, but that's probably a tad too aggressive this early in the evening, perhaps later).

"It's nice to meet you," Roxanne says, holding her hand out to Stiles. Peter can see her squeezing tighter than strictly necessary, but Stiles doesn't flinch, just looks at her in mild amusement.

"You too," Stiles says. There is a very obvious blip in his heartbeat that none of them call him on. 

"Well, this has been fun, but we're going to head to our room for a bit before dinner," Peter says.

"We could use some help," Talia says.

"You hired a catering company," Peter says. "Stiles flew across the country this morning and hasn't slept."

"Plus, I promised him I was going to ride him until his eyes rolled back in his head," Stiles says with a wink. He takes Peter's hand and pulls him toward the door, smirking at the gobsmacked looks on Talia and Roxanne's faces. 

As soon as they're in the relative privacy of Peter's room, Peter's taking Stiles' hand and kissing it, nuzzling his face against it while Stiles looks at him in amusement.

"Needing to get the foreign wolf stank off of me?" Stiles asks.

"Yes," Peter says. 

Stiles hums and lets Peter presses kisses in the palm of his hand, then tug Stiles in to the curve of his arms.

"As much as I would love to make good on my promise...I'm really fucking tired, dude," Stiles says.

"That's fine," Peter murmurs. "How do you feel about handjobs and a nap?" 

Stiles laughs.

"If I ever turn down an offer like that, shoot me," Stiles says.

Peter and Stiles slowly undress, dropping their clothes that smell like the recycled air of a plane cabin to the ground. They trade lazy kisses, Peter backing Stiles up until he's falling back onto the bed. Stiles' skin is pale and beautiful, but it's been long enough since Peter's seen him that it's bearing none of his marks. And that just won't do.

Stiles mumbles something that sounds like, "Possessive wolf," and turns into a long moan when Peter attacks his neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh until it's deep red. Only when he's satisfied that it'll bruise beautifully does he move on to Stiles' collarbones, his chest, his inner thighs. 

Stiles is hard and leaking by the time Peter's done, and Peter's not much better. He crawls up Stiles body, slotting their hips together and grinding down. Stiles mewls and bucks up, trying to gain more friction. 

"I've got you, sweetheart," Peter murmurs.

Peter snakes a hand between their bodies, using their precome to slick the way, and takes both of their cocks in his hand. It's a stretch, neither of them are exactly small and Peter is thicker than average, but it works. Stiles stutters out Peter's name and grips his shoulders, nail digging into his skin, but Peter doesn't mind.

Stiles jerks his hips forward, trying to thrust more into Peter's hand, their cocks dragging deliciously against each other. Stiles mouths at Peter neck, harsh breaths cooling the wet skin. Peter can smell how close he is, can feel it in the tension of his body.

"Sometime this weekend, I'm going to fuck you full of me. Come inside that sweet little ass until you're leaking me for hours. Maybe I'll plug you up, keep my come in you until I fuck you again, keep you reeking of me for days," Peter growls.

Stiles, always weak for Peter talking to him like this, cries out and comes, spilling over Peter's hand. Peter growls and uses Stiles' come to finish jacking his own cock, body seizing up in pleasure a few moments later. His come splashes against Stiles' belly, neither of them making any move to clean it off. 

"You're not going to let me shower, are you?" Stiles asks breathlessly.

"Mm, no," Peter says, kissing his forehead. "You can wipe yourself off if you'd like."

"So generous," Stiles says, but he reaches off the bed for his shirt and wipes the mess of his stomach and their cocks. "Now cuddle me, I need a nap."

"If you insist," Peter says.

Stiles flops around until he's resting on Peter's chest, head tucked under Peter's chin. Peter wraps his arms around him, running a hand down Stiles' back. Stiles is asleep in minutes, but Peter takes a bit to just enjoy the serenity of having his lover in his arms once again. He really could stay like this for the rest of the night, pack reunion dinner be damned, but he knows someone will get sent up to fetch them eventually if they don't show. 

When Peter wakes, Stiles is still asleep and the sun peeking in from the window is a lot lower in the sky than earlier. He spares a minute to wonder what woke him, then hears the soft knock on his door, then it opens a crack.

"Dinner's starting in a half hour," Cora says quietly.

"Thank you," Peter says. 

Cora quietly closes the door behind her and Peter sighs. It's not that he hates his pack, or even his sister, because he doesn't. But he absolutely resents anyone thinking they have control over how he runs his life. He's happy with his company, he's happy with his relationship, and he's happy not being in Beacon Hills full-time. That's how it's going to stay. 

Talia knows better than to try to order him to come back or set him up directly with a member from another pack, but she's tries to "subtly". And subtlety is not one of her strong suits. He doesn't want kids, he doesn't want to marry and knock up a nice wolf from another pack. His mind isn't going to change on that.

"Sweetheart," Peter says softly, pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple.

"Hmm?" 

"It's time to get up."

"Nooo," Stiles whines, burrowing into Peter's chest. Peter laughs and slides out from under Stiles, who groans in protest. "Peter, jet lag!"

"I know," Peter says. "But you're going to eat, which you need to do, and socialize and make Talia mad."

"Fine," Stiles says. "The things I do for you."

"Yes, eating your weight in barbeque is such a hardship."

The backyard is a lot fuller than earlier when Peter and Stiles make it outside. A long banquet table has been set up under a canopy of string fairy lights that strongly give Peter the impression that they're eating in the Spectre scene from Big Fish. Stiles seems to love it though, so Peter tries not to roll his eyes.

They mingle for a while, Stiles getting into a lively discussion with Peter's cousin about the representation of werewolves in US media versus South American. Mama and Pop Hale drift over for a while, gossiping about how Maria's daughter's husband's sister is pregnant with a hunter's child (Peter has no idea who Maria even is, but he nods along anyway).

"Attention!" Talia calls out when they've been mingling for about twenty minutes. "If you'd please take your seats, we're ready to dish up food!"

Everyone drifts to the table to find their place setting. It seem a bit formal to Peter considering they're having ribs, but no one asked his opinion. Talia had least been decent enough not to try to sit Stiles and Peter apart, though she did seat Roxanne across from Peter. Peter avoids looking across the table, choosing to focus on the food being passed down. 

If Peter ignores the woman sitting across from him, it's almost enjoyable. With Derek and Laura sitting between him and Talia, he doesn't have to deal with her too much. He splits his attention between Derek, Cora, and Stiles, not letting his eyes land on Roxanne at all until Talia drags her into conversation.

"Peter, Roxanne is actually looking to be a model, isn't that right?" Talia asks. Mama and Pop Hale are listening politely so Peter has to grit his teeth and play nice.

"It is," Roxanne says. "I'm talking with a few agents right now, but I don't have anything set in stone yet. I'd love to get an insider's perspective if you can give me any tips."

"I don't actually deal with models that much," Peter says. "I leave the selection for shows up to Laura."

"Oh, I'm sure you have some tips," Roxanne says. "Who to stay away from, what to say..."

"I can give you a list of agencies," Laura says. Peter's never been more grateful for her butting in. "I don't know how helpful they'll be since you're in Michigan."

"I've been thinking about making the move out the Los Angeles, actually," Roxanne says. "I think I'd find the atmosphere and company most...enjoyable."

Peter startles as a foot, Roxanne's fucking foot, starts creepy up his thigh, almost nudging at his crotch.

Stiles leans forward on the table, smiling sweetly at her, and says, "If you want to keep that foot, get it off of his lap," not bothering to keep his voice down. His voice is cheery but his eyes are hard. 

"That's quite rude, young lady," Mama Hale says. "To touch someone without their permission, especially when they have a significant other." 

Pop Hale tuts, looking deeply disappointed. Roxanne flushes but doesn't say anything, going back to picking at her potato salad. Peter catches his parents' eyes and his dad winks. Mama just smiles serenely. 

Roxanne doesn't talk much the rest of dinner and excuses herself early. Cora slides over into her vacant chair to talk more easily with Derek, Laura, Peter, and Stiles. Board games come out after dessert and Stiles demolishes them all at Scrabble, which doesn't surprise Peter, but Derek, who usually wins, looks a little stunned. Stiles sucks at Yahtzee though ("It's pure luck! I don't have even a little of that! The only time I ever got lucky was when you spilled beer down my shirt!" "Aw." "Shut up, Cora."), which amuses Peter to no end.

Three rounds into Apples to Apples, Stiles is sitting in Peter's lap, yawning every few minutes. Laura is slumped against Derek's shoulder, eyes barely open. Cora has Michaela, one of her younger cousins, dozing in her lap. The cards are more or less abandoned in front of them, all of them talking in quiet voices.

"I'm calling it a night," Peter says when Stiles yawns so hard that his jaw cracks. "This one is going to be miserable to deal with tomorrow if we stay up any later."

"Such a charmer," Stiles says.

They bid everyone goodnight before climbing the stairs to their room. Stiles only brushes his teeth because Peter makes him, then crawls into bed and is out within minutes. Peter takes a bit longer and by the time he's done, Stiles is already spread out all across the mattress. Peter just snorts fondly and shoves Stiles' limbs over so he can climb into bed. 

Peter sleeps long and hard, and only wakes up because his phone rings at 8:00 a.m. He groans and blindly reaches for it on the nightstand. He'd love to ignore it, but it's Erica and he knows she'll just keep calling if he doesn't answer.

"Yes?" Peter asks, voice hoarse from sleep.

_"Sorry, I know you're on vacation, but there's a problem with Whittemore Designs,"_ Erica says.

Peter barely suppresses a groan. "What'd they do now?" Stiles stirs next to him, blinking up at him confusedly. 

_"Shockingly, it's not actually their fault. They're supposed to have a shoot today for their bridal collection and the photographer and makeup artist both walked off set,"_ Erica says.

"What? Why?" Peter asks.

_"Apparently, the background chosen didn't 'reflect his artistic aura',"_ Erica says. 

Peter groans. "Fine. Call Satomi, ask her if she knows of any photographers in the area that are decent. If not, just have Boyd do it. He knows his way around the camera, it won't be the end of the world. One second," Peter says. He nudges Stiles, who had closed his eyes again. "Stiles."

"What?" Stiles says, not opening his eyes.

"I need Kira's number," Peter says.

"You what?"

"I need Kira's number. I had a makeup artist walk off a set today and need someone to take her place," Peter says.

Stiles tosses his phone at Peter.

"Pin to open it is 2385," Stiles says.

"Erica, I'm giving the number for Kira Yukimura, she's a friend of Stiles'. I've seen some of her portfolio, it's solid work. If she's not available, trawl through Craigslist, pluck the most talented artist from the Nordstrom makeup department, I don't care. This shoot needs to be done today," Peter says.

_"Got it. I'll text you when I know more,"_ Erica says.

"Good." Peter doesn't say goodbye, just hangs up. Erica's used to his lack of manners in the morning, he's not worried.

Peter drapes his body against Stiles' back, wrapping his arm around his waist. Stiles grumbles, but tangles his fingers with Peter's. Peter wants to go back to sleep but he's always been one of those people that when he's up, he's up. He lets himself lounge in bed for a while, but eventually he's just too bored and has to get up.

"No," Stiles whines. "Stay in bed. Warm wolf blanket."

"Or you could get up," Peter says. "It's almost 8:45."

"It's vacation!" Stiles says.

"How about if you get up, I'll blow you in the shower?" Peter says.

Stiles is quiet for a moment, then rolls out of bed, muttering under his breath the whole time.

One shower, two blowjobs, and a half hour later, Peter and Stiles are in the kitchen making breakfast. Cora is already at the table eating a bowl of cereal, but Peter doesn't particularly want Cap'n Crunch, so he and Stiles are making French toast and eggs. Peter feels her eyes on him when he's manning the griddle and turns around to see her looking at him thoughtfully.

"What?" he asks her.

"Nothing," Cora says with a shrug. 

Peter doesn't believe her, but a stampede of family comes in a few moments later and he doesn't push for more in front of them. Stiles and Peter end up making breakfast for everyone, which takes way longer than they'd thought and uses a lot of bread and eggs, but Peter eats while he cooks, so he isn't too bothered. Talia even thanks them, miracle of miracles. 

After breakfast, all the wolf members of the pack are planning on going for a run in the preserve. Peter offers to stay to keep Stiles company but Stiles waves him off, telling him he'll be fine. Mama and Pop Hale are staying behind, as are some of the younger children and the human pack members.

"We can go if we want, but it isn't very fun," Amanda says to Stiles. "They run a lot faster than we do and eat squirrels."

Stiles laughs and says, "Then I guess it's good I'm staying with you guys, isn't it?"

Peter kisses Stiles goodbye and promises to be back soon, then follows the rest of the family into the preserve. Not every Hale has a full wolf shift, but plenty do. Peter is among them. He strips just inside the trees and lets the shift flow over him until he's on four paws. A black wolf trots up to him, Derek, and head butts him in the side, before taking off into the trees.

It's been a long time since Peter's been able to do this. The preserve here is deeper, thicker than anything he has near him in Los Angeles, and he hasn't had much time to run with anyone other than Erica and Boyd in the last year. Cora runs with him for a while before running off the play with Laura. Talia even joins him for a bit before taking off after an aunt. For all her flaws, Peter does love his sister. They just do better when they both have four legs, apparently.

It feels good to stretch his legs and run with his pack, re-cementing those pack bonds that run so deeply, but after a few hours Peter's ready to head back. He's tired, he's hungry, and he feels bad leaving Stiles alone for so long.

It's later than he thought, way after lunch, when Peter emerges from the preserve. Stiles is sitting in the backyard with Mama and Pop and a few of the kids. He looks up when Peter trots over and rests his head in Stiles' lap.

"Peter?" he asks. "Please tell me you're Peter and not some random wolf trying to eat my squishy bits."

Peter huffs and nods, butting his head into Stiles' thigh until Stiles gets the message and scratches behind his ears.

"That's Peter," Mama confirms. "He and Talia have similar coloring, but Talia doesn't have the white belly."

"Oh my god you're so fluffy," Stiles says. He slides out of his chair onto his knees to look at Peter in this eyes. "This is entirely not fair, you never told me you were this fucking cute."

"Did he never tell you about the full wolf shift?" Pop asks.

"Nope," Stiles says.

"Well, he probably was just being modest," Mama says.

Stiles snorts. "I don't think Peter knows the meaning of the word," Stiles says.

Peter rolls his eyes and flops down into Stiles' lap, nudging at Stiles' until Stiles resumes his ear scratches.

"I'm never letting you live this down, I hope you know that," Stiles says. He presses a kiss between Peter's eyes. "Never ever."


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles had enjoyed Peter's pack reunion overall, with a few notable exceptions, but he's more than happy to be leaving the pack house. His phone had been taken and Cora had put in her number before he left, which had delighted him more than he'd been willing to admit. Now they were driving into Beacon Hills for dinner with his dad. On such short notice, he hadn't been able to take more time off, but dinner is more than Stiles even assumed he'd have time for, so he's happy with what he has.

The sheriff isn't home when they gets to the house, so Stiles lets himself and Peter in with the groceries they'd picked up. His dad had offered to get takeout, which Stiles had vetoed, and then offered to cook, which Stiles vetoed even quicker.

"He's not the best cook," Stiles says as he slices the chicken. Peter's cutting vegetables for the stir fry next to him. "And what he does cook tends to be terrible for him. His cholesterol is a lot better than it used to be, but heart disease runs in the family and I don't want him putting himself in an early grave."

"I've seen how you eat," Peter points out. "Shouldn't you be looking out for your heart as well?"

"I've been checked over, I'm fine!" Stiles says. "Cheetos aren't going to kill me."

Peter hums, but it's the hum Stiles associates with plotting and he has a feeling his potato chips are going to start disappearing when Peter comes to town. 

They chat while they cook, Stiles regaling him with inane tales of him listening to the police scanner and creeping around crime scenes. How he and Scott got into so much trouble so often.

"You'd think as the son of the sheriff, you'd be better at not getting caught," Peter says.

"Well I am now," Stiles says. "As a kid? Not so much."

"Should I be expecting the shovel talk?" Peter asks.

"No," Stiles says. "He knows exactly what I think of that bullshit. If he tries it, let me know because he promised me he wouldn't."

The food is almost done when Stiles hears his dad's key in the front door. He turns the burner on low and all but runs to the foyer, yanking his dad into a hug as soon as he steps foot inside. The sheriff lets out an ooph, but hugs Stiles back just as hard.

"Hey kid," the sheriff says. "You're looking good."

"Yeah, I somehow managed not to waste away, who knew," Stiles says, pulling back. Peter steps forward when Stiles beckons and shakes the sheriff's hand. "Dad, this is Peter. Peter, this is my dad."

"Mr. Stilinski," Peter greets.

"John," the sheriff corrects with a smile. "I get enough 'sir' and proper titles at work, I don't need it here. What smells good?"

"Some chicken stir fry and brown rice," Stiles says. "And I expect no complaining."

"No complaining from me," the sheriff promises. "It's rare that I get a home cooked meal that I didn't have to make."

Stiles had been worried at first that there would be some tension. As much as the age difference doesn't bother him, he could see how it would make a parent nervous. It's an easy situation for a power imbalance to pop up. But the sheriff seems perfectly fine with Peter. They chat about fishing and hunting, something Stiles hadn't even known Peter knows anything about, but he supposes it makes sense, werewolf raised in the woods and all that. They tease Stiles about his bad habits (he doesn't bite his nails nearly as much as he used to, okay?) but it doesn't bother him much. They're getting along and that's all Stiles can ask for.

Stiles would like to stay longer and have more time with his dad, but the sheriff has an early shift the next morning and he's already going to be getting very little sleep as it is. So too soon, Peter and Stiles are saying their goodbyes. Peter excuses himself to the car to give Stiles some time alone with his dad, even though he'll probably be able to hear everything that's said. 

"No lecture on how he's too old for me?" Stiles asks.

The sheriff snorts. "Right, like a lecture would do you any good," he says. "You love who you love. As long as he isn't an ax-wielding maniac, I'm happy for you."

Stiles hugs his dad for that. He hadn't thought his dad would hate Peter, not really, but he still wants his dad's approval. He wouldn't stop dating Peter if he hadn't gotten it, but it feels nice to have. He puts a pin in the 'who you love' thing because that's a conversation he hasn't even had with Peter yet and he should probably talk to him about it before anyone else.

"I'll call you tomorrow when I land in New York," Stiles says.

"Fly safe, kid."

Stiles waves goodbye and heads outside, sliding into the passenger seat. Peter's already behind the wheel, the car started and AC on because he knows how cranky Stiles is in a hot car. 

"Enjoy yourself?" Peter asks, backing up out of the driveway.

"I did," Stiles says. "Thanks for coming."

"It was my pleasure," Peter says. 

"It's a big step, isn't it? The whole meeting the family thing?" Stiles says. "I mean, it's not something I've ever done before."

"It is," Peter agrees. He reaches across the console and takes Stiles' hand in his. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, grinning. "You?"

"Yeah," Peter says, and gives Stiles' hand a squeeze.

They stay in Beacon Hills' one nice hotel that night, and they have loud, raucous sex that probably seriously disturbs the neighbors, though Stiles doesn't care at all. When they're done, Peter has his laptop out, doing a little work he's put off, and Stiles is fucking around on his phone. Peter sighs irritably and Stiles looks up with his eyebrows raised.

"One of the models we use a lot is trying to back out of her contract," Peter says.

"Why?" Stiles asks.

"Erica doesn't say. But she has a shoot that starts in a day and half," Peter says. 

Stiles peeks over Peter's shoulder to see the head shot of a gorgeous blonde with high cheekbones and an angular jaw.

"Jesus," Stiles says. 

"What?" Peter asks.

"I mean, I know you're around supermodels all the times, but damn. I can't compete with that!" Stiles says. He's only half joking.

"Don't be ridiculous. I would gladly put you in a runway show if I didn't think you'd fall off it," Peter says.

"Gee, thanks."

The next morning, it's hard to say goodbye at the airport. Stiles has a direct flight back to New York that leaves an hour before Peter's to LA, so they spend a long time in each other's arms in a secluded corner near Stiles' gate. Peter waits until there's no one around to press one last kiss to Stiles' lips as the final boarding call is announced.

"Call me when you land," Peter says.

"I will," Stiles says. "Thanks again, for everything."

"It was my pleasure. Now go, you're going to miss your flight," Peter says.

Stiles glances back one more time before he boards the plane. He looks down at his ticket and rolls his eyes because of course Peter booked him on first class, the adorable ass.

It's hard to slip back into his normal routine after a four-day weekend. Scott's still acting a little weird, especially since Stiles was gone with Peter, but they both very carefully don't say anything about the werewolf in the room. Stiles isn't sure if he reached out to Marin Morrell or not, but Stiles provided the contact information and that's all he can do, he can't _make_ Scott go to therapy.

Stiles is just getting back into the swing of things at work when Lydia texts him, asking, **Have you seen this yet?** accompanied by a link. Stiles taps it and a tabloid article opens up. Stiles chokes on his pizza when he sees that there are pictures of him and Peter in the Los Angeles airport with Cora. They're picking up their bags, walking through the terminal, and waiting for a rental car. Stiles scans the article, wondering what exactly they found out.

_Peter Hale, world-renowned fashion designer, was spotted with his niece, photographer Cora Hale, and a mystery man at Los Angeles International Airport this weekend. Peter Hale, who is scheduled to guest judge on Project Runway later this year, could not be reached for comment; however, his publicist addressed rumors that this mystery man is Hale's new paramour by insisting the two are merely friends from their hometown._

_Cora Hale's publicist also denies that she and this 'friend' are involved. Cora Hale hasn't been linked publically with anyone since her split from actress Rebecca Mendoza and many insiders say she's ready for romance. Given their ages, it's likely that this mystery man is seeing the younger Hale, but with Hollywood, you can never be sure._

Well, it's technically true that they're from the same hometown, but still that...that stings. Yeah, he and Peter have been keeping their relationship private, but he'd just sort of assumed that once the jig is up, it's up. That they'll say yeah okay you found us out. Not just denial. A friend from their hometown. It shouldn't bother Stiles, but it does.

Stiles likes to think that his years of insecurity are over, but sometimes things creep back in. He knows Peter cares about him, but it also niggles at him that Peter wants so much to keep them secret, that they hardly have any pictures of them together, nothing on Instagram or Facebook or whatever, how they avoid places paparazzi might be. Intellectually, Stiles knows it's because Peter likes his privacy and that it's no one's damn business what happens in their relationship, but there's still a tiny corner of his mind that whispers the 'what ifs'.

_To: Lydia  
Nope, sure hadn't seen that_

**From: Lydia  
It only came out an hour or so ago. I figured you hadn't yet.**

_To: Lydia  
Well you figured right_

**From: Lydia  
Are you okay?**

_To: Lydia  
Yep_

**From: Lydia  
I know when you're lying.**

_To: Lydia  
I honestly don't know what I feel about it. I'll get back to you when I do._

Stiles fiddles with his phone, rereading the article as if it'll make him feel any better. Eventually, he sends the link to Peter with a text that says, _Apparently I'm probably dating Cora._

**From: Peter  
They always tend to forget that Cora is only interested in women.**

_To: Peter  
How rude_

**From: Peter  
Are you upset?**

_To: Peter  
No_

**From: Peter  
Do you actually mean yes?**

_To: Peter  
Yes_

**From: Peter  
Can I call you?**

_To: Peter  
No, I'm at work right now, sorry_

**From: Peter  
You don't need to apologize. I didn't realize an article had come out or I would have told you.**

_To: Peter  
I know you would have. It just took me aback a bit to be referred to as a friend from home._

Peter's answer takes a bit longer to come this time. Stiles nervously bites at his nail, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him (data processing is boring at the best of times, intolerable when he's in an off mood).

**From: Peter  
That's the party line my publicist always gives out. Anything else and they'll hound us day and night until they get what they want.**

_To: Peter  
I know. It just bothered me and I don't know why_

**From: Peter  
I'm sorry, sweetheart. You do know I care about you, yes? What they say in the press, especially a garbage publication like the DailyWolf, isn't real. Our relationship is all that matters.**

_To: Peter  
Yeah, you're right_

**From Peter:  
I'll call you when you're off?**

_To: Peter  
Sure, I have three hours and twenty-three minutes left_

**From: Peter  
Haha counting down to the last second, hm?**

_To: Peter  
All day, erryday_

Stiles texts Lydia and tells her he talked to Peter and everything is fine, he just had an insecure moment. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and tries to go on with his day. Greenberg tripping and breaking one of the office's windows serves as a great distraction and before he knows it, he's leaving. 

He's thankful that it's a Friday and that the subway is relatively uncrowded because he's just so tired and wants to collapse face first into bed. He stops for takeout on the way home so he doesn't have to bother cooking, and is just closing his front door behind him when Peter calls.

"Hey," Stiles says. "You have great timing, I just got home."

_"I'm special that way. How was work?"_

"It was work. Greenberg broke a window, so that broke up the monotony nicely," Stiles says.

_"Sounds exciting,"_ Peter says.

"Yeah. How was yours?"

_"Productive. The collection for Fashion Week finally came together,"_ Peter says. _"Actually, I have something to ask you about that. I'll be in town for it in three weeks. Would you and Lydia like to attend? I won't be offended if not, I know it's not really your area of passion, I just thought you might like to."_

"No, I'd love to! I want to see your collection," Stiles says. "You've been working hard on this, I want to see how it turned out. And you probably made a best friend for life in Lydia by asking her."

_"I figured if I didn't, my head might end up on a spike,"_ Peter says.

"Nah, she knows I love you too much to do that," Stiles says. 

There's a pause on the line and it takes Stiles a second to realize why. It's the first time he's told Peter he loves him. It's the first time he's said I love you and it's not even in person! He doesn't have time to freak out though, because Peter is only silent for a few seconds.

_"I love you, too,"_ Peter says easily, like he's been saying it for years. 

It sends a giddy thrill through Stiles and he laughs. 

"Oh my god that's so cool," Stiles says.

_"What, that I love you?"_ Peter says, sounding amused.

"That I love you and you love me. That's pretty rad, dude, you have to admit it," Stiles says.

_"I haven't said 'rad' since I was in college,"_ Peter says. _"But you're right. It feels good."_

"Yeah, it does," Stiles says. 

They talk for another hour, and Stiles can't keep the goofy grin off his face the whole time. When they hang up and say I love you again, yeah, Stiles can't stop smiling then either. 

Stiles is grateful Scott wasn't here to hear that whole confession, but it's getting late and he still hasn't come home yet. Stiles is lying on the couch about to text him when the front door opens and Scott comes in.

"Hey," Stiles says. "I was just about to ask if you were okay."

"Yeah, sorry," Scott says. "I meant to text that I'd be late but I totally forgot."

"It's all good," Stiles says. "How'd your day go?"

"It was good. I, uh, I met with Marin Morrell," Scott says.

Stiles sits up a little straighter at that.

"Oh," Stiles says. "Did it go okay? I know it's private, obviously, I'm not trying to make you tell me what happened or anything, I just meant was it all right?"

"I know what you meant," Scott says. "It was fine. She wants me to see her again."

"Are you going to?" Stiles asks. He tries to care that it's a personal question, he really does, but he hasn't had boundaries since he was like three and learned that burners are hot.

"I think so," Scott says. "She said some things that make sense. It couldn't hurt, I guess."

"That's good," Stiles says, trying very hard not to make a big deal about something that is a Big Fucking Deal. So he says, "Uh, want a beer?"

They have a few drinks and play some Zelda before heading to bed around 1:00 a.m. Stiles is so tired that he completely forgets to tell Lydia about Peter's invitation to Fashion Week. He's having lunch with her later anyway, so he figures it can wait until then. 

It's Stiles' turn to pick where they eat so they end up at his favorite Thai restaurant. Stiles waits until their orders are in to turn to Lydia with a wide grin.

"Okay, you've been smiling since I picked you up, what's going on?" Lydia asks.

"I have two awesome pieces of news. Well, one's more awesome for me than it is for you, but you'll be happy for me anyway," Stiles says. 

"I'm all ears," Lydia says, leaning forward.

"Peter and I did the whole first I love you thing last night," Stiles says.

"Aw, that's sweet," Lydia says. "Who said it first?"

"I did," Stiles says. "It was kind of an accident? It just slipped out and he said it back."

"Well, did you mean it?" Lydia asks.

"Of course I did. I don't like tell people I love them if I don't," Stiles says. "Ugh it was cheesy and disgusting and I'm in such a good mood."

Lydia laughs and reaches around the table, resting her hand on his. 

"I'm happy for you," she says sincerely.

"Thanks, me too," Stiles says. "And now for the news you'll probably be a little more excited for. Peter invited you to Fashion Week with us."

Lydia's grip on Stiles' hand tightens to nearly painful.

"Shut up, he did not," Lydia says.

"Oh he did," Stiles says with a grin. "Something about front row seats?"

Lydia lets out an excited shriek that Stiles is sure she'll deny in the future and whips out her phone.

"I have to clear my schedule, let's see, that's the week of the seventh, right? I can push the trip to London back a few weeks," she murmurs, tapping away at the screen. Stiles just grins and takes a bite of his fresh roll.

\---

The weeks leading up to Fashion Week are hell for Peter. He feels awful that he can't talk to Stiles as much during the day as usual, but he nearly always makes time to call him before he goes to sleep. Stiles is very understanding, to the point where Peter mildly expects him to blow up about how much Peter is working, but Stiles just keeps telling him it's fine, he really gets it. Peter feels damn lucky.

Deucalion, once again, is throwing wrenches into his plans. Apparently he isn't a fan of the gowns Peter has lined up for the runway show and wants to add some finishing touches. Peter threatens to rip his fingers off if he tries. The gowns are already made, they're beautiful, and he isn't going to let Deucalion within fifty feet of them.

On the bright side, the Whittemore office in New York finally is fully-staffed with competent people, so Boyd can return to LA. Erica is beside herself in joy. Peter doesn't have the heart to tell her to calm down. Amy, the shifter from Whittemore Designs, had applied for a position in the Los Angeles office and she's due to start with Kali's team in the next few weeks. 

"Hey, boss," Erica says, walking into his office with a stack of mail and a package in her hands. "I tossed the ones that don't matter, but these you actually have to deal with. Cora called back and said she'll do the shoot for the winter line, but she refuses to work with Aiden and Ethan again and really, I don't blame her. And lover boy sent you something."

Peter reaches for the mail and package from Erica, already curious at what Stiles would have sent.

"Tell Cora that's fine, Aiden and Ethan will be overseas at the time anyway," Peter says.

"Perfect," Erica says. "I sent the trip itinerary and flight information to your email this morning. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you, Erica," Peter says.

Erica nods and walks out of the office, her high heels clacking against the floor as she goes. Peter turns his attention to the package from Stiles, ignoring the other letters Erica had given him. Inside the box is an envelope with a card that he opens first. It's a birthday card with a teddy bear on front. The 'Happy Birthday!' is crossed out and Stiles had written under it 'Just Because'. 

_Peter,_

_I know you've been working super hard and you have a lot on your plate right now. I also know you forget to eat when you're working too hard (I'm guilty of it too, I don't deny it!). So eat more, don't kill any interns, and I can't wait to see you._

_Love you,  
Stiles _

Peter can't help but grin. Peter likes to spoil his partners, it's something he's good at and something he enjoys. He's never had someone who goes out of their way for him though. Digging into the box, he finds two bags of bagels from the bakery down the street from Stiles' apartment that Peter loves, plus a tupperware container full of homemade cookies, a bottle of Peter's favorite peanut sauce, and package of chocolate covered blueberries. 

Peter lets the warm feeling wash over him. Stiles isn't a wolf, he probably doesn't know the implications of caring for Peter, of _providing_ , but it doesn't make the happy feeling in Peter's chest dim. It's late enough the Stiles is probably home from work, so Peter takes out his phone to FaceTime him. Stiles answers quickly, grinning

_"Hey there,"_ Stiles says.

"Hello, love," Peter says. He holds up the bag of bagels and Stiles' face lights up. "I got these today."

_"Awesome! I picked their quickest shipping option so they shouldn't be stale,"_ Stiles says.

"You're too sweet," Peter says. "I honestly believe this is the first time someone has done something like this for me."

_"Really? Well that's stupid. At the very least you deserve bagels and dirty pictures. And I already keep you stocked with dirty pictures."_

"That you do," Peter says. "I can't talk for long, I'm already late to a meeting, but I wanted to thank you as face-to-face as we can get."

_"You're welcome. And I'm always happy to see your stupidly perfect face, even if it's just for a few minutes,"_ Stiles says.

"It's just a week until I fly out. As soon as the show is over, I'm all yours," Peter says.

_"I look forward to it. I'll talk to you later?"_

"Of course, sweetheart. I love you."

_"Love you, too."_

Peter sighs, really not wanting to go to this meeting, but he grabs a bagel to lord over everyone else and heads to the conference room.

As loathe as he is to admit it, Peter doesn't think he'd have been been able to get everything done without Erica and Boyd. Laura is a huge help, but Erica really is the one who's been pulling everything together. She has a particular talent for wrangling unruly designers. 

It takes more patience than Peter cares to use to get everything they need loaded on the plane. Peter almost has a mini heart attack when a particularly clumsy airport employee drops the box of shoes, but Erica soothes him with a gentle touch on the arm, reminding him that shoes would be the easiest thing to replace. It helps, mildly. 

Peter normally isn't a nervous flier, but he's stressed enough over the show going exactly right that he feels nauseous the entire time they're in the air. Erica wordlessly hands him a werewolf-strength Tums, which gets him through most of the flight. 

When they land, their luggage is a little worse for the wear and Peter can feel a coronary coming on, but after a quick inspection things seem to be okay. He shoots a brief text off to Stiles to say that he landed, to which he receives a dozen emoji hearts. Peter would love to just hand everything to Erica and climb into bed with Stiles, but he can't. He's been preparing for this for months and things absolutely have to go his way. He probably won't see Stiles until the actual show, as much as it kills him.

The day of the show is a whirlwind of work, from getting the models set, to making sure everyone is in place, to making sure the lighting it just right. Peter barely has a second to breathe before the models are ready to walk. He has time to peek out through the curtain to take in the crowd. It's a good size, definitely more than last year. His eyes seek out Stiles and easily find him sitting in the front row with Lydia. Stiles looks amazing in the gray suit Peter had sent for him, and Lydia is stunning in a deep blue dress that Peter is pretty sure is from the new Stella McCartney collection. 

"We're ready, Peter," Laura says. 

Peter turns around. Laura is standing with the first of the models set to walk. Peter looks over them critically before he nods.

"All right. Let's get this started," Peter says.

The show is a bit of a blur after that. Peter makes sure each model is perfect before he or she steps out onto the runway and lets Laura take care of getting them ready for the next outfit. There's a slight slowdown when a heel on a shoe breaks, but Erica takes off her own heels and hands them to the girl. They're a little small, but they work for the thirty second walk down the runway and back. Bless Erica.

Before Peter knows it, it's over. Months of preparation and the show is finished. He goes out on the stage after the last model walks and bows, thanking everyone for attending. He sends a wink Stiles' way before turning around and heading backstage.

"Erica, do me a favor and grab Stiles and his friend and bring them back here," Peter says.

Erica's grin is sharp.

"I get to meet the boyfriend?" Erica says.

"If he has so much as a hair out of place, I will flay you," Peter says.

"You take the fun out of everything," Erica says, but she goes.

A few minutes later, she's leading Stiles and Lydia back behind the stage, Boyd trailing behind them. Stiles all but flings himself at Peter. They don't kiss, not in front of so many people, but Peter hugs him tightly before pressing a kiss to Lydia's cheek.

"Did you like it?" Peter asks.

"It was beautiful," Stiles says. "I loved the first few. Very Grecian, if that makes sense?"

"It does," Peter says. "I'm glad you like it."

"I especially liked the gray a-line dress three from the end," Lydia says. "Very classy but modern."

"I would try to be modest, but I'm exceptionally happy you both approve, so I won't be," Peter says.

"Yes, modesty and you, so well acquainted," Stiles says.

Erica laughs.

"Traitor," Peter says to her. She just shrugs.

"I have dinner reservations for the three of you in an hour," Erica says. 

"You and Boyd could have joined us," Peter says.

"We've been busy for a straight month," Erica says. "We're going to go back to the hotel room and he's going to screw my brains out."

Stiles chokes and Lydia pats him on the back. 

"Next time," Lydia says. Peter can see her eyeing Erica and Boyd appreciatively. Peter wishes he didn't know that Erica and Boyd regularly bring a third into their bed and would probably be more than open to her joining them.

"You can count on it," Erica says with a wink.

Stiles looks highly amused and Peter just sighs.

"I'll give her your number," he says. "Shall we head out?"

Peter had known there would be a few members of the press around, but he hadn't expected the sheer amount of cameras in his face as they walked outside. Stiles blinked, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights. Lydia just tosses her hair to the side and walks forward, all but pushing her way through. The photographers part like a sea in front of her and if Peter didn't know any better, he'd swear she were a wolf. He would recognize the fresh grave dirt smell of a banshee anywhere, though.

Luckily, the restaurant they go to for dinner is used to having a higher-end clientele and is good about keeping nosy people with cameras out. Peter enjoys Lydia's company, he really does, but all he wants is to have Stiles for himself again. It's been a long month since they've been in each other's presence and he wants to do things that the owners and diners at La Luna probably don't want to see.

Lydia doesn't seem to take it personally. They don't cut dinner short by any means, but they also don't stay for dessert or drinks. Lydia calls a cab home and Peter and Stiles take one to Stiles' place so he can change and pick up a bag. It's the first time Peter has been in Stiles' apartment. He gets it, Scott lives there too and the scent of a foreign wolf in his home could be seen as an insult, but Stiles had said he didn't care.

"We've been together for months. I love the shit out of you and I'm not planning on going anywhere," Stiles had said. "Scott's going to have to deal with that. It's my apartment, too."

So here Peter is, walking in the front door of Stiles' tiny two-bedroom apartment. He tries to keep his face from doing anything rude, but it's hard. It's much smaller than Stiles had described and Peter can hear the rats in the walls. They've done what they can with it, though. There's a bright area rug and a squashy, comfortable-looking couch squished into the tiny living room. A small round table sits in the their kitchen. You have to shimmy past it to get to the fridge, but it works. 

Peter would gladly pay for Stiles to move into a better apartment, but he knows Stiles would never let him. That's also probably a bit much for two people who have only been dating for six months.

"It's not much," Stiles says with a self-conscious shrug. "But it does what we need it to."

"My college dorm had a cockroach infestation and I shared with three other boys," Peter says. A partial lie. There were two cockroaches and only one boy. "Trust me, I've seen worse."

Stiles smiles slightly and leads him down the hall into his bedroom. There's a sort of eclectic cluttered feel to the room that fits Stiles perfectly, and Peter is sure that Stiles knows exactly where everything is, even if no one else would be able to find it. 

Stiles' bag is already packed so he just undresses, hanging the suit up before Peter can remind him. Peter watches him strip appreciatively, taking in the planes of his body, the long line of his throat and lithe torso. He's down to just his boxers when he looks over his shoulder and winks at Peter. Peter growls and prowls forward, tugging Stiles back against his body and splaying a possessive hand over his stomach.

"Weren't you ever told it's unwise to tease a wolf?" Peter asks. 

"Probably, but when have I ever been one to listen to advice?" Stiles asks. 

Stiles turns and kisses the underside of Peter's jaw before stepping away and getting dressed. Peter groans, making Stiles smirk.

"I promise you can ravage me as much as you want when we get back to the hotel. I don't want Scott coming home and hearing me begging you to do embarrassing things to me," Stiles says.

"Embarrassing, hm?" Peter says.

"Embarrassing if my best friend hears it, absolutely," Stiles says. "I'd prefer it if other people don't hear my odes to your cock."

"I suppose that's fair," Peter says.

Peter knows Stiles is hoping to get out before Scott gets home, wanting to avoid a confrontation between the two werewolves, but of course, Scott walks in the front door right as Stiles and Peter go to open it. Scott and Stiles both freeze, staring at each other before Scott's eyes slide to Peter. Peter hides his sneer well. Scott doesn't.

"Scott, you remember Peter," Stiles says. 

"Yeah," Scott says. He looks like he's trying to swallow a lemon. "It's nice to see you."

Peter wants to be petty and ask is it? But he doesn't want to start a fight in Stiles' doorway. 

"You too," Peter says.

"We're heading out, I'll be at Peter's hotel for the next few nights," Stiles says, going to brush past Scott, but Scott grabs his arm. Peter fights not to snarl.

"Wait," Scott says. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"You...what?" Stiles asks, blinking in surprise.

"I'm sorry," Scott says again, then turns to Peter. "I'm working with a therapist to try to work out all the self-hating werewolf stuff and I'm getting better, I promise. It's just slow, you know? But I'm sorry I treated you badly because of it."

"I accept your apology," Peter says. "I hope everything turns out well."

Peter offers his hand, as much as it pains him to do it, and Scott takes it, looking relieved. As soon as he lets go, Stiles pulls him into a hug, a big grin on his face. 

"Well, I'll see you guys later," Scott says.

"Bye," Stiles says.

It's not until they're in the car that Stiles turns to Peter and says, "So. I heard you accept the apology. I'm guessing that isn't the same thing as forgiveness."

Peter shrugs and starts the car.

"I'm not angry at him or going to start a fight," Peter says. "But I can't forgive how he treated you, either."

"He wasn't that bad about me. I mean, he was mostly angry about you, no offense," Stiles says.

"None taken," Peter says, pulling out into traffic. "And I'm fine with him being angry about me, but I'm not okay with him yelling at you over it. It will take more than an awkward apology for me to believe he's changed his ways."

Stiles studies him for a long time and Peter expects anger or him to jump to his best friend's defense, but eventually Stiles just shrugs and says, "Okay."

"Just okay?" Peter asks. 

"Yeah, I mean I'm not going to hold how you feel against you," Stiles says. 

"Thank you, love," Peter says. He reaches across the gear shift and tangles his fingers with Stiles'.

When they arrive at the hotel, there are paparazzi outside harassing some new up and coming actress, so Peter sends Stiles up first, then sneaks up the stairs a few minutes later so they aren't seen together. By the time he gets up to the room, Stiles is already naked on the bed, two fingers buried deep inside himself. Peter's instantly hard.

"Starting without me?" Peter asks, stripping.

"It's been so long," Stiles pants. "Don't want to wait."

Peter drops his clothes to the ground and crawls onto the bed between Stiles' legs. He spreads Stiles' thighs wider and traces a finger over where Stiles still has two fingers buried. Peter traces the reddened rim before pressing a finger inside next to Stiles'. Stiles groans and bucks his hips up, his cock jerking against his belly.

"Okay, okay no more teasing," Stiles says, withdrawing his fingers. "Please, I need you in me now."

Normally Peter would love to stay between Stiles' legs, teasing him to the brink of orgasm over and over, but he's wound just as tightly as Stiles is, so he doesn't make him wait. Peter lines his cock up with Stiles' wet hole and slowly pushes in, both of them groaning. It's been so long since he's had Stiles beneath him, since he's felt his perfect hole around his cock, that he doesn't know how long he'll last.

The room is full of the sounds of skin on skin. Stiles is dragging his nails down Peter's back, biting his lip to keep from moaning too loudly. Peter can't wait to have Stiles in his bed in Los Angeles where there are no people one wall away and they can be as loud as they want.

"Peter," Stiles whines. "I'm close."

"Me too, sweetheart," Peter grunts. 

He reaches between them and strokes Stiles' cock, making him gasp and tighten. It's only a few seconds before Stiles is shouting as he comes between them. The clenching around Peter's cock pulls him over the edge moments later and he hisses, biting at Stiles' neck as he comes deep inside him. There's nothing but panting and harsh breathing for a few minutes before Peter eases himself to the side, tugging Stiles' limp body into his arms. 

"You broke me," Stiles mumbles. "Your stupid magic dick."

"You love my dick," Peter says.

"Yeah, I guess," Stiles says. "I love the person it's attached to more."

Peter laughs and presses a kiss to Stiles' temple before rolling out of bed to get a wet washcloth to clean themselves off. Stiles props himself up against the headboard and takes out his phone while Peter grabs his laptop, having a few emails he needs to send out before the end of the night. It's disgustingly domestic, lying in bed with his partner and sending off approvals on designs. It's something Peter never thought he'd enjoy, but here he is.

"Huh," Stiles says, frowning down at his phone.

"What?" Peter asks.

"Apparently you're dating Lydia," Stiles says.

"What?"

Stiles hands him his phone and sure enough, there's a picture of Lydia and Peter from earlier in the day, Peter kissing Lydia's cheek. There are a few more of them through the windows of the restaurant and a couple leaving the show's venue. Stiles has been cropped out of all of them. 

The TMZ article reads _The famously single Peter Hale may have found a new relationship in the arms of noted mathematician and social activist Lydia Martin. The two were seen leaving Hale's Fashion Week show in New York this afternoon before heading to a romantic dinner at La Luna. Hale, notorious for being obsessive with his privacy, hasn't been officially linked to anyone since his engagement with Elizabeth Carson fell through in 2008. Representatives could not be reached for comment._

"Well they're certainly reaching," Peter says, handing his phone back to Stiles.

"Yep," Stiles says, taking the phone and frowning, probably sending off a text to Lydia.

"Are you all right?" Peter asks.

"Yep," Stiles says, but the sour curdling note his scent has taken on tells a different story. 

Peter sets his laptop on the table next to the bed and turns to Stiles, who is very deliberately staring at his phone. 

"Stiles," Peter says.

"Lydia's already seen it," Stiles says.

"Stiles."

"A photographer tried to jump out at her outside her loft but she pepper sprayed him and he ran away," Stiles says.

"Stiles," Peter says, placing his hand on Stiles' wrist. Stiles looks up at him, face carefully neutral. "People are going to say a lot of things about me, and plenty of them aren't going to be true. The only person I care about is you. As long as you know I love you, everyone else can think whatever they want, fuck them."

Stiles sighs and some of the tension from his body seeps away. Peter presses a kiss to his forehead and Stiles slumps into his side.

"I know," Stiles says. "I love you too. I'm just tired."

"Let's sleep then, I can finish up tomorrow," Peter says.

"Okay."

Stiles lies on his side, letting Peter curl up behind him. Peter wraps his arms around Stiles, his mouth pressed against the back of Stiles' neck. The sour scent doesn't fade until Stiles falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter's ecstatic about Stiles coming to visit Los Angeles. It's a busy time for him, making sure the winter line is going to be ready in time, dealing with another employee problem at Whittemore (one of the people they'd decided to keep on a probationary period needed to be let go, rapidly), and his sister is bugging him about Christmas plans. Peter doesn't care. He does as much as he can in the weeks leading up to Stiles' visit and pushes the rest onto Erica and Boyd. It's not often that Peter takes time off work, but he knows they can run the place for a few days while he's gone.

As much as Peter would love to pick Stiles up from the airport, there's one last meeting that he absolutely can't get out of. Stiles says it's fine and tries to protest when Peter sends a car for him, but the Uber ride can get expensive and Peter wants to. Stiles gives in with a shrug. Peter is able to telecommute to the meeting at least, so he's home when Stiles' car drives up. He finishes the call right before the doorbell rings.

"Dude," Stiles says when Peter opens the door. "I knew you were rich, but this is the nicest street I've ever been on. I'm pretty sure I saw Scarlett Johansson jogging down the block."

"Probably," Peter says. "She has a house a few streets away. Hi."

"Hi," Stiles says with a grin. He leans in and kisses Peter, wrapping his arms around him. They stay like that for a few minutes before Stiles pulls back with a sigh. "I hate to ruin the romance, but I really need to pee."

Peter laughs and grabs Stiles' suitcase and pulls it inside, letting Stiles in to the house. 

"First door on the right," Peter says, nodding down the hall.

Stiles follows his directions and a few seconds later, shouts, "There are so many mirrors in here! It's like peeing with fifty clones of myself!"

Peter snorts fondly. He waits until Stiles is done before taking him on a tour of the house. Stiles can't wait to try the pool out back and is very impressed by the massive library, but it's the bedroom that really gets his attention.

"Your bed is huge," Stiles says, flopping back onto it with a groan. "Oh my god this is so comfortable, I can't wait for you to fuck me on this thing."

"We don't have to wait," Peter points out.

Stile grins. "You're right, we don't."

They're out of their clothes quickly, but Peter takes his time when it comes to opening Stiles up. He teases him with just one finger, sucking marks into his inner thighs, licking at nipping at the sensitive skin until it's dark from Peter's mouth and facial hair. It's ten minutes between he even slides a second finger into Stiles.

Stiles is as enthusiastic as ever, but now that there aren't any neighbors one thin wall away, he takes the permission to be as loud as he wants. His choked off whimpers turn into loud, long moans, the gasps turn into screams, and the babbling, oh the babbling. 

Stiles tells Peter how much he loves his cock, how talented his hard are, how he's never come like this with anyone else. He begs for more. He whines Peter's name like a desperate prayer. It's only when Stiles is glistening with sweat, pleading, that Peter slides into him.

"God," Stiles groans, raking his nails down Peter's back. "Fuck, I've missed this."

"So have I," Peter says, thrusting slowly. 

"My toys don't fill me up like you do, can't fuck me like this," Stiles gasps out. "Fuck, fuck."

Peter picks up his pace, making sure to graze Stiles' prostate as often as he can. They both try to make it last, but it's the first time they've been around each other in a while, and they're both too keyed up to keep it up for long.

It's soon that they're both coming, Peter first, deep inside Stiles. The feeling of Peter's cock pulsing inside him, filling him up, sends Stiles right over the edge after, shaking as he comes apart in Peter's arms.

The lie there for a long time, wrapped around each other, just enjoying each other's company.

"There's a restaurant a few miles away where I'd love to take you for dinner," Peter says, running his hand up Stiles' smooth hip. "But would you rather stay in tonight?"

"I'm good with dinner," Stiles says. "I need a shower first, is that cool?"

"That's fine, I probably do, too," Peter says, then winks. "Shall I join you?"

"Like we'd get any actual showering done," Stiles says with a snort. He walks naked into Peter's en suite. It takes a few minutes of muttering for Stiles figures out how to turn the shower on. Peter could have told him, but where's the fun in that?

They're ready to go an hour or so later, Peter dressed in a dark cardigan and jeans, Stiles in one the henleys Peter had given him. Stiles had seemed relieved when Peter told him it was more of a casual restaurant. 

The restaurant is a small Thai place, the kind of hole in the wall restaurant that can either be delicious or full of food poisoning. Luckily, this one is delicious. Stiles does a double take when he sees Keira Knightley a few tables away. When she sees them, she smiles and waves at Peter, who blows her a kiss back.

"What the fuck?" Stiles mouths.

"I did the dresses for her sister's wedding party," Peter says.

"Blow me down," Stiles says.

"If you want..." Peter says.

"Ha, as fun as public sex sounds, my dad is a sheriff and I know exactly how many times people get caught for that," Stiles says.

"I guess you'll just have to enjoy your pad Thai then," Peter says. Stiles sticks out his tongue.

It's dark by the time they get back, which isn't surprising since it's late fall. The temperature is still nice though, so Peter puts their leftovers away and tugs Stiles outside. The pool is softly illuminated by the lights underwater and lights on Peter's pergola. 

"Are we skinny dipping?" Stiles asks with a grin. 

"Of course," Peter says. 

Peter undresses Stiles slowly, making sure to fold his clothes on a pool chair before kissing him deeply, cradling his jaw in his hand. Stiles wraps his arms around Peter's lower back, tugging him in closer. When they break the kiss, Peter rests his forehead against Stiles' with a sigh.

"I need you to know something," Peter says.

"Okay..?" Stiles says slowly.

"It's taking all of my self control not to push you into the pool," Peter says.

Stiles squawks in shock and outrage, pushing away from Peter.

"You will not!" Stiles says, laughing. "I forbid it."

"Oh no, whatever will I do," Peter says.

Stiles flips him off and jumps into the pool, splashing Peter's jeans. 

"What now, wolfman?" Stiles says with he surfaces. 

"I suppose I'll have to join you," Peter says, faux dramatically. 

Peter stacks his clothes on top of Stiles' before making his way to the pool. He doesn't jump in like Stiles did, instead choosing to walk down the pool steps. Stiles is waiting for him, water clinging to pale skin. He's grinning and Peter's completely sure he's about to get splashed, but all Stiles does is swim to him and wrap around him like an octopus, snuggling into his side. Peter holds him close, humming in contentment. 

He hasn't done this before. Sure, he's had the odd naked swimming moment with one-night stands, but this is cheesy and romantic and ridiculous and Peter loves it. There are too many lights in LA to see many stars, but what they can see is still beautiful. Stiles ends up floating on his back next to Peter, holding his hand in a way that reminds Peter of the sea otters he saw at the zoo with Cora when she was still a kid.

"Hey," Stiles says softly when they've been floating for a while. "I'm really glad to be here."

"So am I," Peter says. 

Stiles smiles and hums. A second later, Peter's splashed in the face. 

One truly ridiculous splash war later, it's getting a little cooler and they go in for the night. They do shower together this time, because really Peter doesn't want to take his hands off of Stiles. Stiles doesn't seem to mind, massaging shampoo through Peter's hair under the stream of the rainfall shower head. If they happen to indulge in a couple of wet, soapy hand jobs, well, that's their right.

Stiles cuddles close to Peter's side that night, moaning about how great Peter's sheets feel. Peter has the suspicion Stiles' come from Target. Stiles will neither confirm nor deny, just tells Peter to shut up and enjoy the moment.

Peter's phone wakes them up the next morning. Peter groans and gropes for it on the nightstand, hitting the side button to make the ringing stop. A few minutes later, it rings again. Stiles stirs at his side, burying his face in Peter's chest.

"Make it stop," Stiles whines.

Peter picks up the phone and answers, "What?" 

_"I know you're on vacation, but the final paperwork for the winter line needs to be signed like yesterday,"_ Erica says.

"I _did_ sign it yesterday," Peter says.

_"No, Kali brought you a duplicate copy of fall's paperwork and you signed it without reading it. You really should only do that if it's me handing you something."_

Peter groans, running a hand over his face.

"Fine. Give me and hour and a half."

_"I'll have coffee ready,"_ Erica says.

"You do that," Peter says, and hangs up.

"Hafta go t' work?" Stiles asks.

"Yes, apparently most of my staff is incompetent," Peter says.

"Lucky you," Stiles says.

"Do you want to come with me? It'll take five minutes. We can get breakfast when we're done," Peter says.

Stiles opens one bleary eye and looks at him, assessing his options, before nodding.

"Sure, the inner workings of one of the biggest brands in the world, sounds good," Stiles says. "Breakfast with you, sounds better."

They shower and dress quickly and get in the car before it's even 8:00 a.m. Peter hates Erica a bit. He knows it's Kali's fault, not hers, but he's been known to occasionally forget to not shoot the messenger. 

Stiles finds the Hale Fashion building fascinating. He carefully watches everyone's interactions, takes in how everyone's dressed, and, much to his amusement, how they treat Peter.

"Oh my god, if only these people knew what kind of a fluff ball you really are," Stiles says.

"I am not," Peter says. Two interns stop before getting in the elevator with them, choosing at hang back and wait for the next one. 

"You totally are," Stiles says.

"I already have one irreverent employee in Erica, I don't need the rest staging a coup," Peter says.

Erica is waiting for them in Peter's office. She hugs Stiles like they're old friends, not people who have just met each other twice for ten minutes. Stiles looks shocked but hugs her back. 

"Paperwork is on your desk," Erica says. "Along with coffee and two danishes."

"Bribing me isn't going to make me any happier to be here on my day off," Peter says.

"No, but it'll hopefully remind you that you like me and this isn't my fault," Erica says.

"No,' Peter says with a sigh. "I know it isn't your fault."

"Good," Erica says. "Actually, Boyd and I were wondering what you're doing tonight?"

"Double dating with your boss?" Peter asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Please, like you really care about propriety," Erica says.

"Actually, Cora, Derek, and Laura are coming over for dinner tonight," Peter says. "You two are more than welcome to join us."

"Great," Erica says. "We'll bring dessert."

"As long as Boyd's making it. I remember your cookies," Peter says.

"Rude."

"But truthful," Peter says. "Go light a fire under Kali for this."

"Aye aye. See you tonight," Erica says. She sends Stiles a wink on her way out the door.

"Derek, Laura, and Cora are coming over tonight?" Stiles asks.

"Is that okay? They wanted to see you while you're in town," Peter says with a frown. "I thought I told you..."

"No no, it's totally fine," Stiles says. "I was just surprised is all."

Signing the paperwork is quick and Peter makes sure to actually read it this time (Erica is right, he should know better than to just sign what he's given, but he was in a hurry to get home to get things ready for Stiles' visit). In just a few minutes, Peter and Stiles are leaving and driving to the little place a mile away from his house that Peter loves for breakfast. One bit into his crepe, Stiles agrees and professes undying love.

They spend most of the day lounging around, interspersed with a nap and truly phenomenal blowjob, before Peter has to start cooking for dinner. He'd considered ordering out, but he really wants the opportunity to cook for Stiles, even if there will be other people here too. Surf and turf is Peter's plan for the evening, and he refuses to let Stiles help beyond mashing the potatoes.

"I can help, you know," Stiles says.

"I know," Peter says. "You're helping by keeping me company. I want to do this for you."

Stiles rolls his eyes fondly but doesn't push. He does try to sneak bites when things start coming out of the oven and Peter has to slap his hand away. When the doorbell ring, Peter shoos Stiles away to go answer it. He returns a few minutes later with Erica and Boyd in tow.

"Is that what I think it is?" Peter asks, nodding to the container in Boyd's hands.

"If you think it's Boyd's famous devil's food cake, it absolutely is," Erica says.

"You're an angel, Boyd," Peter says.

"I do what I can," Boyd says.

"Could one of you grab the wine from the wine cellar?" Peter asks.

"I can't believe you have a wine cellar," Stiles says, shaking his head.

"I will," Erica says. 

The front door opens a few minutes later and Cora shouts that she's coming in with Derek and Laura. A couple seconds later, Cora's hugging him, trying to reach around him for a bite of broccoli. Peter hits her on the hand with the wooden spoon.

"I love you, but not that much," Peter says.

Cora shrugs. "I had to try," she says.

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't," Peter says.

"This is true," Cora says.

They leave Peter alone to finish cooking, which he appreciates since that means he doesn't have to bat people's hands away from the food every few minutes. He's never had much use for the formal dining room, preferring not to have people over in large groups, but he finds he doesn't mind. The table is huge and they're all down on one side of it, but that's fine with him.

As they eat, Boyd regales them with tales of the Whittemore office, Derek talks about trying to deal with the witch in accounting who keeps trying to magic her spreadsheets into doing their work automatically, and Cora shows them pictures of her backpacking trip in South America. Stiles skims over his work, saying that data processing is dull and doesn't deserve to be a big conversation piece. 

After dinner is Boyd's cake, which has Stiles moaning pornographically at the first bite.

"Normally we don't hear those kinds of moans outside of the bedroom," Laura teases.

"Usually I'd be embarrassed, but I can't be. This cake is too good. I want to marry this cake," Stiles says.

"Uncle Peter will be sorely disappointed," Laura says.

Stiles shrugs and takes another bite. 

They gather in the backyard after dessert, sitting around the fire pit. They all chat for a while, until with a groan, Erica and Boyd stand to leave.

"We have to be at the office tomorrow, unlike _some_ people," Erica says. "Thanks for everything, though."

Erica hugs Stiles goodbye and kisses Peter on the cheek, followed by Boyd shaking each of their hands and heading out. They're all warm and comfortable around the fire and Peter can feel sleep coming, so he makes himself get up and start on the dishes. Stiles offers to help, but Peter shakes him off, tells him to stay outside and chat. Laura comes in the help though, bless her. She's the only one Peter trusts not to mess up his expensive cookware anyway.

"You seem happy," Laura says as she scrubs a pan.

"I am," Peter says.

"I'm glad, you know," Laura says, nudging his hip with hers. "After everything with Elizabeth...well, I'm glad you fund someone better."

"Me too," Peter says. 

They wash the dishes in companionable silence for a while, until Peter heads outside to ask if Cora or Derek want to take any leftovers. Derek and Stiles' voices drift in from outside, making Peter pause.

"...and he just won't take a hint, you know? I want him to stop texting and calling as much and he just isn't getting it that I'm not interested," Stiles says. "I don't want him anymore."

"Have you told Peter?" Derek asks.

"No," Stiles says.

"He'd want to know," Derek says.

"I guess," Stiles says. "But I like the way things are, I don't want to throw a wrench into that."

Peter's heart sinks. He doesn't want to assume they're talking about him, but those words, the exact words Elizabeth had used when Peter had discovered her cheating. 'I have it good, I don't want to throw a wrench in that'. 

Peter's heart is beating very fast, a lead weight settling in his stomach. He'd thought things with Stiles were going well. He'd thought they were on the same page, that they were moving forward together. Had he read things that wrong? Did the whole secret relationship thing lose its allure and put too much of a strain on what they had? Was Stiles just with him because he didn't know how to leave? Didn't want to give up what Peter can provide? It wouldn't be the first time, but Peter could have sworn that Stiles was different.

Peter walks away from the porch quickly, not wanting to hear any more, and retreats to his office. He takes a few deep breaths before pulling out a bottle of wolfsbane-laced whiskey and downing three quick shots. He sits for a minute, the adrenaline and hurt coursing through him, then tugs his laptop forward and starts typing. 

Derek pokes his head into the office sometime later, frowning at him.

"Hey, we were just heading out and wanted to say goodbye," Derek says.

"Goodbye," Peter says, not looking up from the screen.

Derek pauses for a moment, but shrugs and leaves. Peter hears the front door close behind his nieces and nephew and takes a deep breath, now stuck in the house alone with Stiles. A few minutes later Stiles trails into the office, looking adorable and sleepy and it makes something in Peter ache. But he's not going to be pulled into another situation like he'd been in with Elizabeth. He refuses. 

"Hey," Stiles says, walking forward to kiss Peter. Peter takes a step back, making Stiles frown. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Peter says. His voice is cold, making Stiles' confused look deepen. Peter picks off the sheet of paper from the printer and hands it to Stiles. Stiles glances at it and looks up at him. 

"What's this?" Stiles asks.

"Your ticket home. The plane leaves in two hours," Peter says.

Hurt blooms across Stiles' face.

"You're sending me home?" Stiles asks. "Why?"

"You know why," Peter says.

"No, I really don't," Stiles says. He tries to step forward again, and Peter steps back. "What happened? Did I do something?"

"You're going to want to leave soon if you're going to make your flight," Peter says. "Don't worry, I won't be calling you again."

"Peter, wait!" Stiles calls, but Peter is already walking out of the office and into the library. 

Peter slams the door closed and locks it, ignoring Stiles' knocking and calling through the wood until he finally gives up. Peter stays in the library until he hears Stiles leave, trying to ignore the smell of Stiles' misery. He doesn't get to be miserable, it's Peter who's getting the raw end of the deal here. Peter drowns himself in whiskey for the rest of the night.

Erica is surprised when he comes in the next day and asks what's going on. Peter growls at her to drop it and bring him the newest designs from Kali's team. Erica's eyes go wide, but she doesn't argue, not when she sees what kind of mood Peter's in. In fact, everyone gives him a wide berth at work, not seeking him out unless they absolutely need to and even then, they approach with trepidation. Peter doesn't care. If it gets them to leave him alone, he'll take it.

Stiles tries to call him, text him, even email him. Peter doesn't open any of them and after a week, they stop. 

Peter doesn't tell anyone. He doesn't want their pity or worse, Talia's condescension. He keeps it to himself, burying his hurt in his work and setting up the winter line release party. He doesn't want to do it, he doesn't feel like attending any kind of social event, but he has to. He does one for every release and he can't drop the precedent now, not without people knowing something has happened. So the event goes forward.

Peter looks good in his suit, but he doesn't really care. His hair is perfect and again, he doesn't care. The catering is set up on the beautiful rooftop garden venue, the guests have arrived, and Peter doesn't care. All he cares about is the open bar. 

He makes polite small talk, though everyone can probably tell his heart isn't in it. He sees Derek and Laura across the garden, but doesn't seek them out. Derek hasn't told him about what Stiles had said about him, and Peter's pretty pissed about that, too.

By midnight, Peter is spectacularly wasted and has an animated blonde woman, one of Laura's latest model finds, leaning up against his side. She's giggling and keeps kissing his cheek, leaving red lipstick smeared. 

"Picture for Instagram," she says, lifting up her phone. 

Peter wraps and arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss to her temple, staring at the camera defiantly. A few moments later, his phone buzzes to let him know he's been tagged in the picture. There. Hopefully Stiles sees that, though part of Peter doubts he'd even care since he didn't want to be with Peter anyway.

"Come on," the woman (Carly? Karen?) says, tugging him by the hands. "I'm sure there's a place we can be alone here."

Peter's just drunk enough that it sounds like a fantastic idea and starts to follow her, but then Derek pushes his way between them, pressing a hand to Peter's chest. Peter growls.

"Don't growl at me," Derek says. "What the hell are you doing? What about Stiles?"

"What about him?" Peter asks.

"I know you've done some fucked up things, but I didn't think you'd cheat on him," Derek says, frowning.

"It's not cheating if we're broken up, is it?" Peter snaps.

Derek's eyebrows raise.

"What? Why? Since when?"

"Since I heard you two talking," Peter snaps.

"Talking about what?" Derek asks, looking more confused than Peter thinks he has any right to be.

"I heard you!" Peter says. "I heard him telling you how he doesn't want to be with me but doesn't want to 'throw a wrench' in how things were!"

Derek looks confused for a few more moments, before his expression dawns in understanding, then morphs to anger. He looks like he'd like to strangle Peter.

"You fucking idiot. That's not what he said," Derek growls. "He was talking about an ex of his that's trying to get in contact."

"...What?"

"Theo someone, a guy he dated in high school has been messaging him and isn't getting the hint that he isn't interested," Derek says. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you assume that instead of just asking him? Have you watched a rom com in the last fifteen years?"

"He said...he used the same words Elizabeth did," Peter says and yeah, that sounds extremely stupid now that he says it out loud. He groans and closes his eyes, running his hands over his face. "Fuck. _Fuck!_ "

Derek looks at him in disgust and really, Peter deserves it.

"I need to fix this," Peter says. 

"Yeah, you do," Derek says. "Good luck with that."

"I need you to drive me to the airport," Peter says.

"Get an Uber," Derek says. 

"Please, Derek," Peter says, for once begging his nephew.

Derek glares, but huffs.

"Fine."

Peter follows Derek out to his car, pulling out his phone to buy the next available ticket to New York. The only seat left is in the back of the plane, in coach. Peter doesn't give a fuck, it'll get him to New York before morning. 

"You have no one to blame but yourself," Derek says when he leaves Peter at the curb. Peter knows. Fuck, does he know.

He's still a little drunk on his way through security and onto the plane. It makes gathering his thoughts harder. He's trying to put together an apology for Stiles, something that will explain how much of an ass he's been, how much he's willing to do to fix it, but his brain is muddled with alcohol and anger at himself and he can't seem to find the words. 

Peter still has no idea what he's going to say when they land, even though he's long sober. He has no idea what he's going to say on the cab ride to Stiles' apartment. He doesn't know what to say when he waits outside the building until someone comes out so he can let himself in. He doesn't know what to say when he knocks on the door. 

It's not Stiles who opens it, but Lydia. Her eyes go cold the second she sees him, her mouth set in a grim line and if looks could kill, he'd be dead on the floor.

"What the fuck do you want?" she asks.

\---

Stiles can't remember being this miserable. He goes through the motions at work, he gets his job done, but he doesn't talk to anyone. He barely answers when anyone asks him anything. The first two days back in New York were spent crying in his bed, as much as he hates to admit that. He'd tried reaching out to Peter, but got nowhere. Eventually he stopped. If Peter didn't want him in his life, that was his loss, not Stiles'. Stiles tried to believe that.

Scott is better about it than Stiles would have assumed, not saying I told you so even once. He lets Stiles eat ice cream on the couch and watch Disney movies. Kira brings him hot and sour soup, and even Isaac tries to help, though honestly all Stiles wants is to be left alone.

He'd loved Peter. Loves Peter. He doesn't know what he feels beyond hurt. He tried to avoid social media or anything TMZ-related that might have anything to do with Peter, but it's hard. It's like because he's trying to avoid Peter, he's suddenly everywhere. Articles about the winter line, ads for his guest episode of Project Runway. Then, the model Lydia follows on Instagram with a picture tagged with Peter, her lipstick on his cheek and him kissing her temple. Stiles drinks a bit too much that night.

Lydia is over the next morning, trying to pull him out of bed. Apparently a week and a half of moping around at home is too much. Stiles doesn't care, he isn't getting out of bed.

"Get up, we're going out for breakfast," Lydia says, hands on her hips.

"We sure aren't," Stiles says, tugging his blanket tighter around him.

"Stiles."

"Lydia."

Lydia sighs, exasperated. 

"You know, I liked it better when you'd blindly do whatever I asked," Lydia says, sitting on the bed next to him.

"No you didn't," Stiles says.

"No, I didn't," Lydia agrees. 

Someone knocks on the front door rather insistently, and really Stiles just isn't having this today. Scott isn't home, so Stiles makes puppy eyes at Lydia, begging her to open the door. She just rolls her eyes.

"Fine. If it's more bubblegum you ordered off of Amazon in a fit of drunken self-pity, I'm turning it away," she says.

"That's fair," Stiles says.

He hears her open the door and beat of silence before he hears, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Bewildered, Stiles pulls himself out of bed. He's gross and hasn't showered yet, and is wearing only his boxers, but he thinks stopping Lydia from eviscerating the poor Amazon delivery guy is more important than propriety. What he isn't expecting is to see a rumpled Peter on his doorstep, looking devastated.

Stiles really wishes he'd stayed in bed. His clothes are dirty, his hair is a mess, and his eyes are red and puffy from crying. His heart seizes in his chest at the sight of Peter and he wants to kiss him and punch him in equal measure.

"Stiles..."

"I asked you a question," Lydia says coldly. 

"Lydia," Stiles says, but she ignores him, staring at Peter with her arms crossed, tapping her toe.

"I made a mistake. I need to talk to Stiles," Peter says.

"Yes you made a mistake. No, I can't think of why you'd need to speak to him," Lydia says.

"I think that's his decision to make," Peter says.

"Would you like me to use my banshee scream? I'm pretty sure I could rupture your eardrums from this close," Lydia says.

"Please," Peter says. "Please, if he wants me gone, I'll go. But please just let me explain."

Lydia glances over at Stiles. He nods at her and she reluctantly steps aside to let Peter in.

"Can we have a moment alone?" Peter asks.

"No," Lydia says.

"Lydia," Stiles says.

"He had time alone with you and he blew it," Lydia says. "I'm not opposed to knocking him out and dragging him out of here if he upsets you."

"At least eavesdrop from my room so I can pretend this is a private conversation," Stiles says.

"Fine," she says, then turns to Peter. "I reserve the right to make your life a fucking nightmare."

That's twice Lydia has cussed in the period of five minutes, more than Stiles has heard from her all year. She walks down the hall to Stiles' room, not bothering to close the door, and leaves them standing awkwardly across from each other in Stiles' small and dirty kitchen. 

"I'm sorry," Peter says. "God, I am so sorry. I made a terrible mistake."

"Why?" Stiles asks and fuck, he hates how destroyed he sounds. He thought he was done crying. "Why'd you make me leave?"

"I made a mistake," Peter says again. "I overheard you talking to Derek and thought it was about me. I thought you didn't want to be with me."

"You...that was about Theo!" Stiles says. "Why the hell would you assume that and not ask me?"

"You used the same words that Elizabeth did and I just panicked," Peter says. "I was stupid and irrational and god, I am so sorry."

"Peter, you broke my fucking heart! I have never loved anyone like I love you and you just pissed all over that!" Stiles says. "And all because of half a conversation you overheard? Are you kidding me?"

"Please, give me a chance to fix it," Peter begs. "I love you, Stiles. I need you in my life. I'll do anything you want. I'll move out here, I'll go public. I'll call every news agency that will listen and tell them how much I love you."

"I don't want you to out our relationship just because it's what I want, I want you to do it if you _want_ to," Stiles says.

"I do want to. Stiles, I want the world to know how lucky I am to have you in my life. I want everyone to know how special you are to me, how much I love you. I want everyone to see how much I am yours."

"But you're not," Stiles says. "You left me."

"And I will never, ever in my entire life regret something more than that. Please, Stiles. Please give me another chance. I won't hurt you again, I swear it," Peter begs. "Please, tell me what you need me to do. I'll do anything, please."

"I don't know," Stiles says quietly. "You...fuck, Peter, it _hurts_."

"I know, I'm so, so sorry," Peter says. "Just a chance. We don't have to jump back in where we were, just please give me a chance."

Stiles is silent for a long time. He wants to, god does he want to. He wants to be wrapped in Peter's arms again, to have the security and safety that he always feels when they're together. He wants to know Peter loves him. He wants to forget the last week and a half. But he can't. He can't just say everything's fine and welcome Peter back with open arms.

"Counseling," Stiles says finally.

"Counseling?" Peter asks.

"Counseling for you for what happened with Elizabeth," Stiles elaborates. "Counseling for us as a couple. I don't...I don't know if I can trust you again. But I'm willing to try counseling and see what happens."

Peter slumps, like his strings are cut, and tears gather in the corners of his eyes. 

"Thank you," Peter breathes. "Thank you. You won't regret it, I swear. I swear, Stiles. I will do anything you need to keep you in my life."

"This isn't a guarantee," Stiles says. "I can't make promises."

"I know," Peter says. "But thank you for being willing to try."

They stand there quietly for a few moments, neither of them sure what to say.

"I'm going to get a hotel room," Peter says finally. "Can I take you to dinner tonight."

Stiles thinks about it for a moment, then nods. 

"Yeah," Stiles says. "But I'm picking where."

"Denny's?" Peter asks, teasing him, though it's a little stilted, like he isn't sure he's allowed.

"Maybe," Stiles says, smiling slightly.

"Can I hug you before I go?" Peter asks.

Stiles nods and a second later Peter has closed to distance between them, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding him tightly. Stiles shudders and hugs Peter back, letting himself feel small and safe surrounded by the other man. There's wetness on his neck and Stiles realizes Peter's crying. That's fine, Stiles would hate to be the only one.

"I'll pick you up at seven?" Peter asks when he pulls back.

"Yeah," Stiles says. "I'll be ready."

"Until then," Peter says, taking Stiles' hand and kissing the back of it. 

Peter lets himself out after another long glance at Stiles, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Stiles blows out his breath and collapses into the kitchen chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. Soft footfalls announce Lydia's arrival and a second later she's draped over his back, hugging him tightly.

"You're not going to tell me I'm an idiot?" Stiles asks.

"Never," Lydia says softly. "You supported me whenever I went back to Jackson even though he messed up. The very least I can do is support you, too."

Stiles really, really loves Lydia. Scott is less impressed. There's a lot of shouting, but Lydia steps in and reminds him that it's his job as Stiles' friend to be supportive, not tell him what to do. Kira looks hesitant, but tells Stiles that it's his choice and tells him how her parents went through counseling when they were on the brink of divorce, and this year celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary. Isaac just shrugs and says, "You do you."

Stiles hasn't actually told his dad about his breakup with Peter, so thankfully he doesn't have to worry about telling him about Peter coming back. He will one day, after counseling either succeeds or fails. Maybe. Probably not.

When Peter picks him up for dinner that night, it's with a bouquet of wildflowers. Scott, Isaac, and Kira are all over, shouting and making death threats. Peter nods at all of them, accepting their words easily, telling them he knows exactly how badly he's fucked up, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to fix it. They don't look convinced, but Lydia does take the wildflowers to put in water while they have dinner.

Stiles doesn't actually make them go to Denny's, though he's pretty sure Peter would have settled for McDonald's if that's what Stiles had said he wanted. No, they go back to the Palm, the restaurant where they'd had their first date. They have a secluded table in the corner, away from prying eyes and ears. 

Peter tells Stiles everything. He tells him every detail of what went wrong with him and Elizabeth. He tells him about the fire, about killing Kate Argent. He tells him about growing up with Talia, about always feeling like second best because he would never be alpha. He tells Stiles everything he swears he was always going to keep to himself. He tells him now so he isn't surprised in the first counseling appointment if anything comes up. He tells Stiles because he wants Stiles to know him, all of him, good and awful. He answers any question Stiles has, holds nothing back, even when it makes him look less than stellar.

Stiles tells him everything back. He tells Peter every excruciating detail of the last week and half. He tells him about every self-destructive thing he's done, every awful thing Peter made him think. He tells Peter all about his abandonment and control issues from when his mom died, and how Peter stomped all over them. Tears gather in Peter's eyes while Stiles speaks and swears that if it's what Stiles wants, he'll leave.

Stiles is hesitant, but he thinks maybe he can do this. At least he can try.

\---

Six months later, Peter is sitting down with Oprah of all people. The set lights are bright and hot, and the makeup artist's brush is making him want to sneeze, but he can deal with it. He's sitting on a couch opposite of Oprah, cameras pointed at them from all angles. He's not nervous, he's had way too many interviews in his life for that, but he does have jitters that feel quite foreign to him. 

"Are we ready here?" the director asks.

"Yes," Peter says.

"We are," Oprah says. 

Peter glances to the side of the set where Stiles is sitting and smiles at him slightly right before the call of, "Action!"

"I'm here with Peter Hale tonight, owner and head designer at Hale Fashion, to talk about the launch of his new Beta collection, fame, and finding love in the spotlight," Oprah says. "Peter, to jump right into it, earlier this week, you went public with your relationship via your Instagram account."

"I did," Peter says. "His name is Stiles, and meeting him was the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"How did you two meet?" Oprah asks.

"Well, I was at a baseball game and spilled my beer..."

Oprah grills him on his relationship with Stiles, and Peter doesn't hold back. He tells her exactly how much he fucked up and how lucky he is that Stiles was willing to give him another chance.

"I moved to New York full-time instead of traveling back and forth every few weeks, which isn't exactly a hardship. It took a lot of time and a lot of therapy to get to where we are now. I highly recommend couples counseling," Peter says. "I truly believe it saved us."

Eventually, they move on to the new Beta line, talk for a bit about the past season of Project Runway, and then end the interview. Oprah shakes his hand when they're done.

"I appreciate your candor," Oprah says. "Not everyone would be willing to say that much about therapy."

"I was willing to do whatever I had to to make it work," Peter says. "And I'm lucky enough that he was willing to give me another chance."

Stiles comes over after Peter's mic is taken off and tugs him into a hug, kissing him lightly.

"I love you," Stiles says.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Peter says.

"Lunch?" Stiles asks.

"Lunch," Peter says.

There's a crowd gathered outside the studio of fans and paparazzi alike, lights and cameras flashing in their faces as security makes a path for them to get to their car. Stiles takes it with much more grace than Peter had when he first came into the public eye, smiling politely but not stopping to answer questions. Peter's hand is wrapped securely in Stiles' until they have to part to get into the car.

"Regret it?" Stiles asks as they slowly drive out of the lot, trying to avoid hitting anyone swarming their car. 

"Of course not," Peter says, reaching across the gearshift to rest his hand on Stiles' thigh. Stiles curls his fingers around Peter's. "Anything with you by my side isn't something I can regret."

"Softie," Stiles says, smiling softly. "You know I've forgiven you, right? Dr. Short said it might take you a bit to believe that."

"I believe you," Peter says. "I don't know how much I deserve it, but I believe you."

"We'll discuss that next session then," Stiles says with a wink. "Where do you want to do lunch?"

"I hear Denny's is good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all she wrote, folks. Might revisit this, but it'd be way in the future. I have like 23 WIP documents waiting for me first.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


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